


Thirty Hugs for Thirty Days

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: AUs, Angst, Art, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Parental Roy Mustang, and hugged, and loved platonically, everybody gets hurt, it's a very fun time i promise, so much pretty art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 24,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Thirty drabbles, based on thirty brand new arts! Each one featuring a hug, and some of which are actually sequels to some of my previous fics. Come along if you want good art and a big dose of fluff! (and... some angst...)





	1. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang (violence warning)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> This has been the project that's kept me busy for the past two months. Akarri decided to do a daily hug challenge, where she drew one hug a day for a month, whereas I decided to follow her and do one drabble a day for each one of her hugs. It... actually took us two months to finally finish... *coughs*... but, here we are! (this is what has been eating up my time instead of To the Night Sky. I am so, so sorry ;-;)
> 
> We actually drew/wrote 31 hugs/drabbles. However, all I'm uploading now are the ones that made the final cut. Some chapters will be just fic, some will be just art, many will be both! Our original day 18, we both didn't like, so that is absent- but everything else will have an entry! If you want to see just art, just fic, whatever, I'll have it in the chapter title, so you can more easily sort them to your liking. Also, any drabble that has any warnings I'll put in the chapter title. We hope you all enjoy!!!
> 
> All art is drawn by Akarri on FFN   
> All fic is written by Ranowa (me)

“If you bleed to death, I’m never forgiving you.” 

Maes laughs, but it comes out all bloody and sticky. “Oh-kay,” he stammers, smiling distantly.

It’s as if the word, or laugh, or blood, or all three, perhaps, sets Roy’s already blazing eyes on fire. “I’ll never forgive you if you suffocate on your own blood, either!” he snarls, and then his hands are pressed so hard to his chest he chokes all over again. “Don’t you go trying to find a loophole in this, _Hughes. Y_ ou’re getting out of this, you’re going to be _fine-_ so just keep your damn eyes open!” 

He’s going to be fine. Part of him already knows that; the wound’s not serious enough, there’s backup on the way, and Roy’s right here with him, keeping pressure and keeping him talking and doing all the right things. But then, he’s also got a gaping hole in his chest and another in his back and blood’s coming out his mouth, so what does he know, really? He laughs again, tasting more copper, and wonders if Roy is going to cry or just keep yelling at him. He’d really prefer the second.

He’d really prefer the second. 

“Hey!” Roy snaps at him- figuratively, at least. “Hey, you braindead _moron,_ ” and one of the hands left his chest to jab roughly into his hair instead, heaving him off the ground. “Talk to me, Hughes- don’t pass out now. Help’s almost here. Come on.” He shakes him a little, gripping his hair too tightly for it to be of any comfort, then lifts him even closer, the panic igniting in his coal-like eyes. “Talk to me!” 

It takes him a few seconds to find the breath to speak. When he finally manages it, it’s even worth it to pull the strength together for a smile. “No.”

“Wha- _no?”_

“No,” Maes repeats, smiling still.

Roy blinks down at him, hair all tousled and blood-smeared face all pale and black eyes lost. “What are you-“ He shifts closer, supporting Maes on his legs so one gloved hand can pat at his face in something akin to a slap. “Hughes-“

“You’re… always telling me to shu… shut up.” He cracks another bold grin at the vacant confusion and bold fright, breaths still ragged and too fast. Damn, this hurts. “Th-thought I’d… finally do it. ’S what you w-wanted… isn’t it?” He beams as bold as he can. “S-so I’m finally… following orders. Sh-shutting up n-now… sir.” 

Roy looks as lost as Elicia at her new school.

There’s several empty, disbelieving blinks.

Then, the next thing Maes knows, his face has gotten another gentle, open-palmed slap, and he’s been pulled in so close for such a tight hug he’s pretty sure it squeezes some more blood out of him. 

“O- _ow,”_ he gasps woodenly, barely scratching it out past the rawness and the blood. 

“You deserve it,” Roy snaps, head buried hard into his shoulder.

There’s silence, now. A short-lived, impossible silence. Roy’s trembling, and holding him tightly, and still hiding his face; when he finally does come up for air his eyes are dry and hard again, and pressure is returned so harshly to the wounds he has to cry out.

“Asshole,” Roy says when he’s done, and gently slaps at his cheek again. 

There’s a few more moments of silence. His vision is fading, but with the spiraling blackness is pounding footsteps; help is close. He’s okay, now. He looks up at Roy’s half terrified, half still disbelieving face and laughs again, light as air and heavy as the dark blood trickling out of him.

“Mmph,” Maes mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. He can just barely feel Roy’s hands on him now, but he definitely feels it when Roy tugs on his hair again, trying to get him up, fingers pulling in panic and curling into his collar like if he grabs him tightly he can make him stay. 

“Maes- Maes-“

“Did I ever t-tell you… ‘bout the time…”

“Maes, wait- wake up, help’s almost here, you’re fine, just a little longer- Maes _stop that, please-“_

It’s definitely darker now. He can’t see a thing, but there are other hands on him now, even if the pain is starting to be a world away. Roy’s scared now, no doubt it, but his mouth keeps moving of it’s own accord even when he feels Roy’s rough, gloved hands cradle his face.

“…that I t-took…”

“Maes, come on, open your eyes-“

“E-Elicia’s… picture?”

Another several moments of dead silence. 

Then:

“Shut up, Maes,” Roy says, and Maes laughs himself all the way into the darkness.

Funny. He really hadn’t wanted to make Roy cry, but the last thing he sees as the medics touch him is his best friend, head in his hands, shoulders shaking, and he hears it in his voice all the same. 

It’s a shame, really. All Maes’d wanted to do was tell an Elicia story. 


	2. Art: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang (violence warning)




	3. Fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this is a follow-up to my fic The Journey Home! (minor spoilers for that fic)

When Ed got off the train, the first thing he realized was how hot it was.

He stepped out onto the platform and squinted, shielding his eyes as he looked up to the sun. It was almost evening, the sky darkening and shadows lengthening already, but it still felt almost boiling. Already, his looser, lighter clothes felt stifling, he could swear his braid was sticking to his neck already with sweat, and it felt like the sun was specifically trying to burn his skin alive.

He squinted a little harder.

And then, he smiled. 

Just where he wanted to be. 

He shouldered his bag a little more, straightening his collar, and headed straight for the first soldier he could see. The officer glanced at him a little suspiciously, probably wondering what somebody his age was doing out here, but Ed wasn’t in the mood today to let his fuse be lit by one stranger looking at him like he was a child. 

He was happy today, and that was the way it was going to stay.

“Can you take me to see Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye, please?” 

* * *

Reconstructed Ishval was a maze to travel through, a very dusty and hot one, and Ed was grateful to have asked for directions- even if it had taken a bit of bartering and a few, er, exaggerations of the truth, to get the officer to lead him to this rebuilding country’s second in command. It was going well, though- Ed could see that for himself. He may not have ever seen Ishval before Amesris had tried to repair it, but he could see it now. He could see the repairs. The reconstruction. The _healing._

This was a worthy place to be, and he was glad to be here.

Ed was led towards the command tent and left outside while the soldier went to fetch Hawkeye for him. He paused, shielding his eyes from the sun again as he squinted around. While he’d expected the military to have set up and repaired the city around themselves, it was actually the exact opposite- it looked as if they’d made camp on the outskirts and worked outwards. This was probably the worst section of the city so far, and there didn’t seem to be much going on to change that; just one or two groups that were probably a bit undermanned. 

Ed grinned. 

“Hey!” he called, settling his suitcase down on the hot sands, raising his metal hand in greeting as he approached one of the repair teams. They all glanced at each other uncertainly, probably wondering what a kid was doing this far out here; Ed just kept his bold grin on his face and lowered his hand. “Mind if I lend a hand? I’ve got a meeting with General Grumpface in a few minutes, but I’m pretty handy.”

The soldiers exchanged another look, seeming even more uncertain than before. “ _You’re_ meeting with the general?” one of them asked finally, tilting his head. “But you’re just…”

“I’m a bit older than I look, actually.” He grinned again, bringing his hands together in a gentle _clap;_ alchemy sparkled brightly, arcing around his gloved hands, and each and every one of the soldier’s faces brightened. 

“So?” he asked again, beaming. “Mind if I help?” 

They clearly did not mind anymore, and Ed moved in beside them, helping them to rebuild the house- until Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye came looking.

Her face, just like all of the soldiers’ had, brightened the very moment she laid eyes upon him. 

Then, like a switch, she softened. 

“Edward,” she said, lying her hands on his shoulders. “It’s… good to see you.” 

He grinned back. Hell, his face was starting to hurt from all this smiling- but the day wasn’t done yet. “So?” he prompted. “Does being the former Fullmetal Alchemist grant me an audience with the bastard, or is he too busy these days to make time for old friends?"

“Old friends?” she asked, smiling slightly herself. “He’s far too busy for that, I’m afraid. But I think he just might be able to make an exception for you.” She paused for a moment, just looking at him, a rare affection and fondness warming her eyes. She looked older than he remembered- and happier, too. Happier than he’d ever seen her.

“I’m very glad you came, Edward,” she said at last, squeezing his shoulders gently. “He’s… he’s going to be very happy to see you.”

Well, Ed thought, moving to follow along behind her, he sure hoped so. That was the whole point of coming out here as a surprise. 

Hawkeye led the way straight back to the command tent, barely stopping to led Ed grab his suitcase on the way. It was a bit cooler inside, not much; mostly he was just glad to get out of the damn sun, and Ed finally found himself able to stop squinting. He sighed in relief, shoulders slumping; Hawkeye, of course, was as cool and collected as if she were invulnerable to the sun itself.

He rolled his eyes, grinning ruefully to himself again. He was probably going to be getting used to that.

“You have a visitor, General Mustang,” she said, saluting. 

The general, of course, just frowned, and kept his head down, scribbling at whatever document had crossed his desk. “If it’s the colonel again complaining about his quarters, tell him I’ll be happy to see what my flame alchemy can do to improve it. I’m sure a few nights under the stars might give his issues a little perspective.”

Hawkeye sighed again, a long-suffering, patient sigh. _“Sir.”_

Ed smirked.

“ _What?”_ Roy went on, waving a hand. He signed the document with a flourish and tossed his pen down, beginning to settle back. “I know you’re thinking the s-“

He stopped dead. He blinked his single eye.

Ed beamed. 

“I-“ Roy started, then stopped. “I- oh.”

It took just about all of Ed’s self control not to burst out laughing at him, right then and there. “Not the colonel,” was all he _did_ let himself say aloud, shrugging with a smirk. “Please don’t promote me, either. I don’t think I’d like the paperwork.”

Roy, once again, just sat there blinking like a suffocating fish. “…Oh,” he finally said again, then coughed, looking both as if he was trying to recover himself, and failing miserably. “I… Ed.”

“Yep.” Ed tried to smile again, but this time, it faded with the still stunned look on Roy’s face. He swallowed hard, some of his bravado fading into nerves now; he scratched the back of his head anxiously, digging up the words he’d been so sure of since he’d decided this was what he wanted to do. “Right. I, um, know I didn’t really tell you I was coming and all… and I know I’m not officially part of the military anymore, so it may cause a few problems…” He took another breath, trying to reorient himself and focus back on Roy. “But- you were right. When you told me I should stay home. You were right. You told me to take the time that I needed for myself, and I have. I’ve been home for two years now, and- and I’ve gotten better, Roy. Better enough, at least, for me to look at this again, and know I actually want to do this. I want to be here in Ishval with you, and not just because you’re here. I want to help this place, with you- and for you. For you, and myself, and- and for Al.” He swallowed hard again, and this time, it took almost everything he had- but it was true. He could say Al’s name without his heart breaking anymore. 

That was why he was here.

He’d healed as much as he could on his own. It was time to start moving forward again.

“So…” Ed spread his arms a little, smiling as strongly as he could. “So, here I am. Think you’ve got any room for me, General Bastard? Too bad if you don’t, by the way. Because I’m staying anyway.”

Roy blinked dumbly at him for several more long moments. 

Then, without saying a word, he pushed up out of his chair, proceeded around his desk, and pulled Ed forwards into a crushing hug. 

It took a few seconds later for Roy finally to pull back, his hold loosening from crushing the breath out of him, and when he did, it was just for the general to sink to his knees before him, face melting into the same sort of soft, heartrending smile that he’d seen on Hawkeye’s. Roy reached forward, gently tugging Ed a little closer to rest his forehead on his, and then, his smile broadened even further. 

“It’s good to see you again, Ed,” he said quietly, then pulled him back into a hug.


	4. Art: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang




	5. Fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang (canon character death)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note, this is actually a sequel to my fic Miles to Go Before I Sleep! Minor spoilers for that angst fest :)

Ed woke up to the soft, unmistakable sound of a muffled, choked sob.

Then a second one, louder than the first.

Then, silence. 

Ed bit his lip, burying his face back deeper into his pillow. 

He shouldn’t involve himself. It wasn’t his business. It was private, and something he had no right to see, and something terrible and deeply personal he had no wish to ever intrude on. After everything- _everything-_ the bastard had done for him, the least he could do was let him have this much.

There was a third sob, this one louder than the two before it; this one so desperate it sounded like’d choked on it.

Ed curled up even tighter, stomach aching so badly it felt like each sob was punching him. 

_Not your business, Ed. Leave him alone. You’d want to be left alone, so leave him alone. Don’t do anything. Just stay here. Pretend you didn’t hear anything. Don’t think about it. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it…_

_Please just don’t think about it…_

But as Ed waited there, frozen in sick trepidation, pillow hugged suffocatingly tightly to his chest and face, trembling in the deadly silence of the apartment- no more sobs came. 

Somehow, this quiet was infinitely worse than the broken cries that had preceded it.

Ed hesitated again, stomach squirming.

Then, heart clenching, and long before his head had ever managed to find a single coherent thought, he found himself on his feet, and moving as quietly as he could out towards the source of the noises.

Somehow, the sight waiting for him was as equally unsurprising as it was horrible. As brokenly impossible and _wrong-_ as it was exactly what he’d known all along.

Mustang was sitting there on his knees, head bowed in the middle of his living room, alone and still in the dark.

And sobbing.

It was mostly silent now, even the hitched breaths barely a whisper; he was hugging himself so tightly it was like the cries had been trapped inside him and all that could come out were those little broken breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut but his face was wet, Ed could see that even across the room in the dark- but all the darkness and shut eyes and _wrongness_ of it all couldn’t hide what was on the floor before him.

A photo album. 

Ed didn’t have to be next to him to know what pictures he was looking at. 

Another impossibly low sob came out, so soft it sounded like he was being strangled and the devastation was killing him from the inside out. Ed couldn’t help but flinch back, metal foot clanking loudly on the floor as his heart clenched in guilt and sympathy and anguish, because it was just so _wrong,_ all of this was _wrong,_ he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t see this, this shouldn’t be _happening_ \- 

and Mustang froze.

Their eyes met for one single, dreadful moment. Mustang’s wet, red, stricken- and now, horrified, eyes.

The colonel opened his mouth once, trying to say something. All that came out was a strangled, broken gasp.

Then, with Ed still pinned in place with the force of his shattered eyes, Mustang spun away, covering his face with his hands, and shoved the photo album away so violently it was as if it’d bit him. “Go back to bed, Fullmetal,” he whispered, the words so wet and miserable they were barely understandable. 

No _I’m fine._ No _what’s wrong?,_ as if it wasn’t already fucking obvious. 

Just a request that was tantamount to pleading to be left alone.

Ed hesitated again, hugging himself as his heart clenched again in the doorway. “I…”

Mustang didn’t say anything more, just stayed with his back turned and his face in his hands and his shoulders shuddering. He didn’t say a single fucking word, just _sat there_ falling apart, not even when Ed stepped forward again because it felt like he was being drawn by a magnet; he half-expected the colonel to turn to roar at him to get out- but he didn’t. He just sat there, silently sobbing into his own hands- and trembling even harder with every step that Ed took.

Finally he stood there behind the colonel, but he was useless here, useless like he’d been this whole time; just standing there without a word because there his mind was at a blank and he still felt so awful and guilty and _sick_ he wanted to just go to bed and never come out again. He opened his mouth, trying to find _something,_ any gesture of comfort at all- but there was just nothing to come out at all.

Mustang gasped something, the words broken and lost against his hands.

“…What?” Ed finally got himself to ask. His voice sounded warped, somehow; useless even to his own ears. 

The colonel took in a deep, shuddering, not at all calming breath. His shoulders shook even harder, and one hand fell from his face to fist in his pants so tightly Ed could see the white of his knuckles, even in the dark. “He thanked me.” 

Ed, once again, froze. His stomach flipped, and anguish stabbed him through the heart.

“…He thanked me,” Mustang said again, but his voice was no stronger than before. In fact, this time Ed could hear the sobs, shaking violently behind every syllable. “I s-shot him thirty-six times in the face… a-and he t-took the gun… put it t-to his own head… and _thanked me.”_ He stopped, gasping in breaths so desperately, shaking his head back and forth, voice rising in hysterics. “Then- t-then- _then-“_

Another sob broke him off then, this one more violent than all the rest and the colonel was left doubled over, grieving too hard to speak- but it didn’t matter.

Both of them already knew how that story ended.

It was too late for him, it was too late for Ed- it was too late for them all.

It was too late for everything except one of the strongest people Ed had ever known, sobbing his heart out in the corner of his own house.

Ed stepped forward, squeezing his burning eyes shut, and without any logical thought because there just _wasn’t any_ left in his head any longer, wrapped his arms around the trembling man from behind, and hugged him as hard as he could.

The photo album remained upturned on the other side of the room, with the photograph of a beaming best friend holding a softly smiling colonel pressed against the dark floor for the rest of the night.


	6. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang

“ _Roy!_ Ohhhh, _ROY!”_

Roy hunched his shoulders, sinking into himself to hide his face, and wished for death.

“Oh, _Roy-BOYYYYYY~!”_

_No. Go away. Leave me alone. Go somewhere else immediately. Stop. Cease and desist. No, no, NO-_

**_“ROY!”_ **

This time, there was a hand on his collar in perfect timing with the earsplitting bellow, and Roy found himself yanked straight up off the sand and into an around-the-shoulders sort of hug from Maes Loud-Mouth Dumbass Hughes.

He groaned, and once again wished for death.

“Roy, Roy, look!” A thick wad of envelopes smushed straight into his face as his feet were blindly forced step after step forward, Hughes’ arm still squeezing tight around his shoulders. “I finished my first letter, just like I promised Gracia!”

Slowly, deliberately, Roy reached up and pushed the letters down with one firm hand. “Hughes.”

“I’ll write whenever there’s letter transport- I’ll write _whenever_ I get the chance!” he cried, so dramatically Roy wondered if his friend had perhaps missed his true calling to the stage. “I’ll _always_ write back to my darling angel!”

“Hughes,” he said again, squeezing his eyes shut. “We left Central yesterday.”

“-and I’ll _never_ let Gracia- well _yes,_ Roy, I know that; what’s your point?”

“We’ve been out here exactly one day.” He paused, grimacing as he was dragged onwards so violently he nearly tripped over his own feet. “One day, Hughes.” 

Hughes huffed warmly and slapped him on the back so affectionately Roy almost felt his face heat with the embarrassment of it. “And Gracia’s going to love it! Oh, but I’m _sure_ your relationship advice is what I should be listening to remind me, Roy, how many letters are _you_ going to send back to your beloved?” he chortled, beaming. _“One?”_

“I think my pet cactus will do just fine without daily updates, actually,” Roy grumbled, sulkily trying to shrug out from Hughes’ arm. He failed miserably. “Our relationship… transcends words.” He paused, grimacing at the ground. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Hughes laughed loudly again, so annoyingly Roy couldn’t help but both feel mocked- and give in to a slight smile. “C’mon, Roy, at least have a sunflower! You know, something bright and perky, to brighten up your day? You can’t have a _cactus!_ You’re already mopey and grumbly enough; the last thing you need is something like _that.”_ He shook his head at him, rolling his eyes even as he still grinned. “Okay, it’s settled- first thing we’re doing when we get back is redecorating your place. A nice, pretty sunflower for a nice, pretty girl!”

God. Roy groaned, smacking a hand to his face again.

_God._

Sometimes, Roy decided, still dragged along and forcibly glued to Hughes’ side as the idiot transferred his attentions to the letter carrier, handing over his letters and talking his poor ears off, he really, really hated his best friend.

This was also, he considered, the most relaxed he’d felt since stepping off the train into this hot desert. In fact, Roy was pretty sure this was the first time he’d managed to smile.

Had nothing to do with Hughes, of course- Hughes was an irritating, bothersome, talkative _pest_ who was so touchy feely it made Roy want to scream. This had _nothing_ to do with him.

It was just the reminder of his pet cactus plant back home that had improved his spirits, was all.

_Yes,_ Roy thought, even as Hughes landed back against his side like a magnet and started leading him away again, already chattering off about Gracia and god damn Roy, but he was actually _listening_ to the story and smiling- _yes, it’s just the cactus._


	7. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

Finger held to his lips, camera up in the air, and breath held as silently as possible, Maes carefully led the tip-toed way into the room.

“Shhh,” he whispered, probably unnecessarily, and crept forward as softly as he could, not daring to get too close as he leaned around, trying to get the best view that he could. “Don’t wake them up… shhh…”

“Sir, the only one talking is you.”

At Riza’s reprimand, Maes winced internally, biting his lip at the- very true- statement… but was quickly distracted again by his goal.

Ed and Roy, sitting together against the bookshelf. Or- not sitting together, so much as… resting against each other. Ed was leaning into the colonel’s side, utterly limp and boneless underneath Roy’s equally limp and boneless arm, head only kept upright by Roy’s shoulder while the only reason Roy was upright seemed to be the support of Ed’s metal arm.

They were both fast asleep.

And, in Maes’ opinion, utterly adorable.

“How long do you think they’ve been like this?” he whispered to Hawkeye, eagerly shifting around to try and get the best angle. Oh, Roy was going to kill him, but this picture was _worth it…_

Riza made a soft sound of amusement; he could hear her tiny smile in that alone. “Impossible to tell, sir. By the looks of it, they have not yet managed to decode the rouge alchemist’s notes.”

“Notes, schnotes,” he murmured, waving her off. “What does that matter, anymore? We’ve got something far more important than that!” 

Once again, Riza made a tiny noise of amusement; this one, it felt almost like Maes was being teased. “And what would that be, sir?” she asked him, voice still a hushed whisper.

Oh, Maes knew she already knew what he was going to say. That was totally fine with him. Riza might as well have been omniscient, as far as he was concerned- and she probably _was-_ but none of that mattered now.

Not in his current quest to poke the sleeping bear, and get out alive.

“It’s quite simple, Lieutenant…” Maes finally got himself right into position, camera raised and at the ready. He felt bad, almost- really, he did! Perhaps it would’ve been nicer of him to just gently drape a blanket around the two sleeping alchemists and retreat, let them get their well-deserved rest… because they had earned it… 

Maes paused, a devious smile crossing his face.

_But,_ on the other hand, it _was_ getting a bit late in the morning, it was high time for them to wake up by now, and they’d obviously been slacking off work for a while anyway, and-

And, well, he just couldn’t pass this up!

“All I want is a family photo,” he finished quietly, beaming, and positioned his finger right over the button. 

Riza sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with an cutting aura of extreme disappointment. “The colonel will have your head, sir.”

Maes shrugged gleefully. “And what’s new about that? Now, Roy-boy, Ed- say _cheese…_ one, two, three-!”

_Click._

One second later, Maes had high-tailed it straight back out of the room, leaving behind only a dusty footprint, a swaying door, and one Lieutenant Hawkeye shaking her head in exasperation.

Three seconds after that, a sputtering, enraged Ed, and a red-faced, embarrassed Roy, were sprinting after him.


	8. Fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

“I’m _cold!”_

“Hm.” 

“And _wet!_ It’s a fucking blizzard; who the fuck invented _wet snow,_ my coat’s soaking wet! I hate it, I _hate it!”_

“Ah. That’s such a tragedy, Fullmetal. Truly. I feel just terrible for you. My greatest sympathies.” 

Roy decided not to mention that snow was wet by _definition_. Not because he didn’t like the prospect of telling the boy off- he very much did- but because he didn’t think he’d enjoy the hissy fit he’d get in retaliation. 

He also didn’t bother mentioning he was just as wet as Ed was, if not more, because- well. See aforementioned hissy fit. 

“And my leg fucking _HURTS!”_

Ah. So he was going to get that hissy fit after all.

Roy groaned.

“Oh. Really. Your leg hurts. Is that so?” Roy paused for a moment, standing there shivering in the whiteout with a hundred pounds of teenage boy and a hundred pounds of metal bruising his poor neck and back and his legs so tired and cold they were about to fall off. “I’m so very sorry, Fullmetal. Please, tell me more about how much your leg hurts, while we _both_ continue to freeze to death; really- your complaining is simply the most productive thing I’ve heard all night!” 

One of Ed’s hands abruptly left his shoulder, but all Roy had time to do was open his mouth to protest before there was a sharp, angry tug on the back of his head, a spike of pain jolting down his neck and short hair yanked back so hard he screamed out a startled _yelp. “FULLMETAL!”_ he cried, nearly dropping him in shock- or, perhaps, a well-deserved punishment. “Fullmetal, you- _OW!_ What is _wrong_ with you, you absolutely demented child, you completely insa-“

“Annnnnnd _which one_ of us is complaining now, bastard?” 

Roy grunted under his breath, low and furious, tightened his grip on the midget, and kept on trudging.

This, thankfully, seemed to have been the key to journeying onwards in blessed silence. Well, blessed silence minus the howling wind, Ed’s grunts of pains, and Roy’s own labored breaths, anyway. 

It was better than the ranting from before, at least. 

Roy should’ve known, of course, that it was too good to be true. 

“What kind of a fucking asshole breaks someone’s automail, anyway?” Ed grumbled after only a few marginally improved minutes of quiet, tightening his hold around his shoulders as if Roy was the one responsible. Roy grimaced, winced, gritted his teeth, and all but moaned aloud, because god damn it, metal fingers digging into his skin _hurt._ “That _hurts!_ Not to mention that it’s just fucking rude!” 

Roy stopped briefly, dragging his sleeve across his cold, slick face. “Wasn’t this, ah, ‘fucking asshole’, your friend, Fullmetal?”

Okay, he probably deserved the hair tug that he got for that one. 

“Just because he happened to be my age, and _happened_ to have hung out with me and Al all day yesterday, and… and maybe sorta _happened_ to introduce himself as our friend doesn’t fucking mean shit, bastard.” Ed tightened his three working limbs around Roy with a stubborn huff- metal leg still hanging completely uselessly down by his side. “…we didn’t even like him that much anyway.”

Roy sighed, coming to a stop again. He could just glimpse the outpost up ahead, now… _finally._ They were both going to be fine. 

He hesitated again, glancing a little bit over his shoulder to where Ed was still supported by his back, head pressed sulkily into his shoulder. “I didn’t like him, either. …This being _before_ he blew up the place and forced me to carry you twenty miles in the snow, of course.”

“It was barely two, you bastard,” Ed huffed haughtily, tugging on his hair again- but with a hint of warmth to his voice now that there hadn’t been there before.. “Keep going! We’re gonna fucking freeze!”

It’d been a bit more than two miles, Roy was sure, but that wasn’t a point that needed arguing right this very moment- he was going to have the distance measured later and lord it over his short head for every favor he could extol. But, Ed _did_ have a point, so Roy took in another deep pant of exhausted breath and started on his march ever again, bowing his head down against the storm. 

But, Roy couldn’t let Ed get the last word in, of course…

“Besides!” he called back after a few cold moments longer, one last smirk twitching its way into place. “Don’t worry, Fullmetal- there’s no need for you to rely on teenage terrorists for company!” 

Ed growled quietly, tensing like an angry dog, one of the hands that was tight on his shoulders starting to stray away in silent warning. “Bastard…”

Roy, now smirking as broadly and gleefully as ever, very deliberately chose to ignore this warning. 

“If you ever get lonely,” he went on, beaming, “you _know_ that I’ll always be your friend!”

Ed’s answering howl of irritation and rage was so loud it rivaled the storm, and this time, the hair tug of retribution was so violent Roy was absolutely certain the brat had tried to pull his skull out of his skin.

Roy kept laughing, and Ed kept pulling, all the way on to the outpost.


	9. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang

Roy was sitting there for a long time, before someone came along to find him.

He curled closer against the wall, his blood-soaked hands shaking, and blocked them out the moment the footsteps reached his ears.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He- he _hadn’t._

It was just an accident, that was all.

Just, one moment, he was there, and the next-

Roy swallowed hard, throat jumping, and curled into himself a little more.

“Roy- Roy!” There were hands on him, a voice he knew begging, and he was too overwhelmed to flinch away. “Roy?” 

He shook his head, a quiet little moan crawling out his throat, and let his eyes flicker shut. 

The hands moved over him still, trailing without lingering, touching without hurting. Only the fact that they were soft and gentle saved him from fear overriding again and dragging his fingers together in a single, bloody snap. 

“Roy, are you hurt?” the voice asked again, closer now, terrified; Roy could barely even understand what was said. “Oh, god, you’re covered in blood, you’re so- can you hear me? Roy?” He was shaken harder this time, but it felt as if the questions were coming from far away, and it took an incredible amount of effort for him to just move his limbs enough to shake his head. 

“Roy-“

“I’m not hurt,” he mumbled at last. The words tasted strange in his mouth, especially considering he wasn’t even sure that they were true. He didn’t recognize his own voice, low and flat, so steady when he was shaking so hard, and something in his chest flinched away from himself.

The hand on his shoulder shook him again. It was big and warm and urgent, tugging him closer despite the fact that any sane creature would want to be as far away from him as he could ever possibly get. “Are you sure?” the familiar voice pressed, gasping. “This blood, it’s all-“

Then, he stopped.

There was a low, desperate inhale of sheer horror.

“God, Roy… what did you _do?”_

Roy felt himself being held even tighter now, fingers clenching into his shoulder and bloody arm in a shocked, disgusted reflex, and some frightened, still functioning part of his brain finally understood.

Hughes.

His heart skipped another beat, thudding hard in his chest, and Roy swallowed.

“…I don’t know.” 

That one wasn’t a lie- he _didn’t_ know. 

One moment, the man had been approaching him, ranting and raving, shouting that he was a murdering monster and that he had to atone for what he’d done. There’d been a gun. And Roy was three weeks home from a war, and two drinks into another session of drunken self-loathing, and hadn’t slept since he’d woken up screaming thirty hours ago, and that _gun_ was shoved in his _face_ and then he’d been shoved into the wall so hard his head had cracked and-

And he didn’t remember snapping.

But he had to have, because the man was gone.

Literally. 

All that was left of his body looked like Kimblee’s victims. 

Roy’s stomach lurched again, and he dropped his head against his chest with another little moan.

_I didn’t mean to…_

When Hughes finally tugged him closer, arms wrapping firmly around him and pressing his head to his chest, Roy still could do nothing but blink. “It’s okay,” his friend told him, but it didn’t sound okay. His voice was small and scared and shaking; horrified by what he’d done, horrified by the monster he was pulling closer, still, to his chest. “It’s okay. He threatened you. It was self-defense, Roy, it’s okay.” Fingers stroked through his hair, then were suddenly gentle on his face; Roy didn’t understand what he was doing until he blinked again and could see his best friend’s fingers, wet and red with the blood he was wiping off, and his heart lurched again.

_I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to…_

Hughes said something else, he couldn’t comprehend what, and he was half in his lap by now, still trembling; a moment later and his best friend had shifted, fingers entwining with his. By the time he figured out what was happening, it was too late, and his gloves were gone.

“N-no- wait, _please,_ I- I need—“

“Shh,” Hughes crooned, crushing him back to his chest, but his gloves were _gone._ “Don’t think about it. It’s okay. It’s over.” 

“It’s not. It’s- it’s not _over_ ,” and the words barely choked their way past the growing panic in his throat. Because it wasn’t over. It wasn’t over now and it never would be again. He stopped, shaking, trying to force the words out, then failed and tried again, bile in his throat and self-loathing horror clenching in his chest. “I d-didn’t mean to, Maes, I swear. I- I just-“

Maes held him tighter, all but rocking him back and forth now, saying something soft, but all Roy could feel was his short gasps of breath and the unsteady beat of his heart and knew his best friend was just as scared as he was. 

Scared by what he’d done. What he was _capable_ of doing. 

That person he’d killed without even meaning to.

Maes said something else, something about help being on the way, just to keep calm, but it felt like panic was expanding in his chest now so fast and hard that he couldn’t breathe. His head was starting to hurt now and his hands shook along with it, vision whiting out with shock, and no matter how tightly Maes held him or how many comforting words he spoke it couldn’t block out the smell of blood. 

He’d blown him up, he had executed him- and for what? 

The man had been right.

_It was just an accident…_

_It was just an ACCIDENT…_

“I’m s- I’m s-sor-“ he choked, shaking. 

Then Roy dropped his face, burying it into his bare hands, and with one single, wretched sob, broke down.


	10. Art: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang




	11. Interlude (aka, listen to me yell about an AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akarri didn't like the art she drew for this day, so we're not posting it. Additionally, the drabble I wrote for it was based off Sevlow’s Save Me. (It’s the iconic Roy torture fic; come on, we all know it! :D) Howevver, I don’t really feel comfortable publishing fic for a verse that’s not mine when I can’t ask for her blessing (her internet presence is inactive, from what I know), so I won’t be publishing this drabble either. However, I wanted to talk a little about this one anyway! (this is basically a chapter’s long author’s note describing an AU; feel free to skip!)

Paybackraid/YAJJ and I came up with an AU together called Plant AU, for Save Me. We based it off that little scene in chapter 8, where we see that Roy had a potted plant in his apartment that Hughes tried to keep alive, but died while he was in Lior. In Plant AU, Hughes gets him a replacement plant a few weeks after the end of the fic, a sunflower, because Maes is a dork and he loudly proclaims even Roy can’t not smile while looking at a sunflower, and it sort of snowballs down from there.

Riza gets him some small, practical flower (which a sunflower is not, at least to keep inside an apartment, _Hughes),_ Team Mustgang pitches in, Madame Christmas gives him the white dragon bush (ATLA ref!), Ed even comes along to get him a cactus. It was supposed to be a gag gift, he wanted Roy to hate it, but this absolutely backfired when Roy loved it instead, and put it in a place of honor. This was done at least partially to screw with Ed, and Ed, in typical Ed-style, throws a fit ;u;

Roy just goes along with it all at first, but at a certain point, realizes it’s good for him. Having this huge, exotic, growing collection of living things that he has to attend to every day, because with depression and post traumatic stress sometimes just getting out of bed really can be a struggle, and it helps him to know he at least has to get up to go water his little jungle and open the blinds for them. He doesn’t tell anybody else this, but the jungle keeps on growing, keeps on getting new additions, and at least Roy’s closer friends start to realize why and keep on supporting him in it. 

One of the plotlines here was Hughes started trying to find super cool, exotic plants, because Hughes is Hughes and likes giving his friends exorbitant presents. At some point, he finds this incredibly rare, ridiculously feminine, huge pink flower from out of the country. He gives it to Roy on one condition: that the flower be named Princess Roy. Now, Princess Roy needs a lot of TLC, more than most of the others in his collection. At some point, (human) Roy has a bad spell, just a really hard few days, and can’t even manage to make himself go water his plants for a few days. Most of them survived, just a little worse for wear, but Princess Roy did not.

  
Princess Roy! aka a Spider Chrysanthemum :)

Roy, being Roy, immediately starts to stew in the guilt of it, because _that was a present from Hughes_ and _Hughes worked so hard to find it for me_ and _I just killed it because I’m a lazy useless fuck up_ and _EVERYTHING I TOUCH TURNS TO MUD._ He desperately hides the flower's death from Hughes and spends a few weeks trying to recreate Princess Roy with alchemy. Mmm, the plot line sort of ends here- does Hughes find out and tell Roy he’s a moron and comfort him? Does Roy make a new Princess Roy and successfully hide it? Something else? You decide!

The other main plotline I’ll talk about here (it was actually what the drabble was based on) is the Kimblee plotline. Someday, somehow, Kimblee- still in prison- finds out about Roy’s new quirk/coping strategy/obsession. So Kimblee, being the good friend and upstanding citizen that he is, decides he’s got to help him out, and has a plant sent to him to help his collection. Specifically, a poison ivy weed.

Roy actually finds this rather amusing and includes the poison ivy in his collection. From there, this starts a long sequence of Kimblee slowly sending him more and more poisonous plants, never as a legitimate assassination attempt but just as a cruel sort of joke. As the plants get more dangerous, too, Kimblee starts including little notes- things like _Get well soon, Roy. But if you don’t… here’s an alternative :)_

Maes goes absolutely ballistic when he finds out. He tries to get Roy to throw all the poisonous plants out and goes after Kimblee as well, trying and failing to figure out how the hell Kimblee is getting his hands on these exotic, dangerous plants from _prison_ and sending them to a State Alchemist, of all people, while Roy continues to insist it’s not a big deal. He’s continued to add them all to his collection, at first just doing it because he thought it was funny, like the poison ivy, and then it stopped being funny anymore… and he still kept adding them. 

In Roy’s mind, he’s not suicidal or self-harming, and he’s not keeping them around _just in case._ But he doesn’t want to throw them out, because that feels like admitting to himself that he’s still not okay, that it’s not safe enough for him to have them around him, and moreover, while he doesn’t have any plans to _use_ them, he likes having them there as a way of tempting fate. Especially whenever he goes on a downswing and, in his mind… _I’m not going to do anything… but I so easily could if I_ wanted _to._

At one point, just because he’s collecting so many poisonous plants, he actually does, accidentally, get sick from one of them. He ends up in the hospital but gets his doctor to lie to Maes, because he’s worried if Maes finds out, he’ll get rid of the whole garden, and he can’t let Maes do that, it’s one of the only things he has to keep him going day to day. However, Ed’s smart enough to realize Roy’s symptoms don’t match what Roy said he had, and he goes over to talk to Roy himself about it. Roy knows Ed won’t overreact- although he knows Maes wouldn’t, either, but he just can’t help but be scared that he _would-_ so he actually sits down and talks to Ed about it. Ed eventually convinces him to get rid of Kimblee’s poison plants because it’s not healthy for him- mentally, not just physically- and they clear out his apartment together, replacing all of Kimblee’s weeds with more cacti from Ed and sunflowers inspired by Maes. 

Seriously. This is just the bare bones rundown of Plant AU. I love yelling about Save Me, and so does paybackraid/YAJJ. Give us any reason to come up with an AU for it, and we will :)


	12. Fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

Ed looked dead. 

No, really, he did. His eyes were as dull, half-lidded, and vacant he could’ve been a stand in for any corpse, and Roy would’ve believed it.

He would be a tad more sympathetic, if this whole predicament wasn’t entirely Ed’s fault in the first place. 

“I’ve got crackers,” he announced, making sure to sit a good distance away and aim his throw to get the package over to Ed without hitting him in the face with it. “Eat one, and I’ll stop bothering you for another hour.”

Ed blinked slowly, the rest of him as limp and drained as ever. For several seconds, there was no response at all.

Then:

“No,” he mumbled, a guttural, exhausted growl, and shut his eyes.

Roy sighed. “Do you really want to do this again? I think I have a bit more patience than you, at the moment.” He crossed his legs, starting to hum. He knew Ed was too tired to get back at him, so, for now, at least, he was safe.

Sure enough, he only managed a few seconds into the old bar song tune before Ed tensed in annoyance, curling up a little tighter on his couch. “I’m still not talking to you,” he grumbled, voice even more broken and cracking than before.

Roy continued humming, getting a little louder now. He cast an eye about to the nearby newspaper.

“This is your fault,” Ed went on, voice rising, eyes narrowing into a glare. “You piece of shit. Woulda been just fine with Al- but _no.”_

Roy hummed again. 

“Just fine!” Ed hissed, furious but unmoving still. “Or no babysitter at all! But- but _this!_ But _YOU!”_ He moaned as theatrically as he could, loud and juvenile and whiny, and for just a moment, he even sounded as if he was dying, too.

Roy continued to hum.

Ed held out for three more, long seconds.

Then he glared at him so venomously Roy almost had to laugh, and finally reached one hand over to the package to rip it straight open. “Fucking bullshit ass goddamn stupid motherfucking _CRACKERS!”_ he hissed, working at the plastic with trembling hands and rant impressively steady in his still cracking, miserable voice, and Roy, at last, stopped humming.

“Try to control the crumbs, please,” he said- pleasantly, he thought- but evidently, it had not been as pleasant as he’d thought, because at those words, Ed looked straight back at him, right in the eye, ripped a hole open in the package, and shook it out right over on the cushions.

Roy sighed. 

_Such an ungrateful child…_

“I feel obligated to remind you that all of this could have been avoided if you’d just gotten your flu shot, Fullmetal.”

_“I feel obligated to remind you that all of this could have been avoided if you’d just gotten your flu shot, Fullmetal,”_ Ed sassed right back, voice lifting into a ridiculous octave and mocking him in one of the most disrespectful forms imaginable. “Because it did so much good for you, didn’t it? And at least _I_ didn’t end up in the _hospital_ with it, like _you,_ you giant _wuss._ ”

Roy sighed tolerantly, reaching out for the newspaper at last just for the excuse to avoid looking at him. “It wasn’t a hospital, it was a military quarantine.” That had just so happened to be _in_ a hospital, but… _but, irrelevant._ “Which everybody with your strain of influenza is meant to be under until the outbreak is under control- so you _could_ thank me for keeping you out of the hospital. Or, you _could_ eat your mandatory cracker. Or both.”

Ed snarled something probably obscene at him, but looked too damn tired to protest any longer. He sank back into his pillow, staring blearily and with complete disinterest down into his lap- but, finally, as sulkily as a put out three year old, he slipped his single, solitary cracker out.

He looked at it.

Then he nibbled a bite off of it so infinitesimally small, it might as well hadn’t happened at all.

Roy sighed sympathetically, remembering how awful he had felt just a few weeks previously, and for once decided to keep silent.

Ed was just the latest victim in the outbreak sweeping the city- Roy had been one of the first. Alphonse had been conscripted into helping out with the patients under quarantine, simply because he couldn’t catch the illness himself, and, well, the hospital had been seriously running low on manpower. Al had wanted to help. 

It was just his luck that, two days after Roy had managed to discreetly set it up, Ed had fallen ill himself. And, predictably, had flat out refused to go to the hospital under any- expletive redacted- circumstances.

Roy was still citing his own recent bout with the flu, claiming it must have affected his mind, as the only reason why he had decided to accept Ed’s protests, and stay here to take care of him instead.

The sly, amused ways Maes and Hawkeye had both looked at him had suggested they both knew otherwise. Roy had restrained himself from commenting back in any way, except for an empty tissue box being tossed at Maes’ head- which the man had simply had coming to him, for all that he’d harassed him when he’d been ill.

Roy shook his head at himself, tiredly bringing himself back to the present moment, and his current task of taking care of a very sick, very stubborn alchemist.

Ed was… making progress. A fourth of the way in to the meal Roy was too worried to let him go without it no matter how little good it would surely do. Roy hesitated, watching the sulky teen take another tiny bite, then groan quietly, curling a little more into himself.

“Al’ll be back in a few more hours,” he said finally, getting to his feet. He arranged his features back in a smirk, knowing it was what Ed would respond best to. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll tell him you already had your milk, so he won’t make you later tonight.“

“Shut up, bastard,” Ed muttered into his cracker. “You can’t lie to Al. It’s impossible. Also, I’d kill you.”

“…Even if it was to help you?”

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t get to lie to Al.”

Roy rolled his eyes, smirking faintly again. Nice to know his subordinate’s morality was so black and white… even if the teen clearly had no problems with lying to _him…_ “Have it your way, then.” He shook out the blanket that was on just the other end of the couch, clearly too far away for Ed to reach for it, and dropped it over him, trying not to notice the softly grateful sigh or the way Ed seemed to just melt a little at the warmth. “Finish eating it, then get some rest. You need it.”

“No,” Ed sassed back immediately- but his hand curled around the blanket anyway, head leaning a little more into his pillow. He was quiet for several moments, staring unhappily down at the remains of his cracker. “…Thanks,” he muttered, even softer than before.

Roy smiled back. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said quietly, tucking in one errant corner of the blanket. “Just try not to sneeze on my couch again.”


	13. Art: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang




	14. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

_  
_

_“I’ll kill him! I’LL KILL HIM!”_

“No, you won’t.”

“I’ll- I’ll- I’ll fucking-“

“We both know you have a moralistic objection to murder, Fullmetal. Why are you promising things you don’t mean?’’

“I- y-you- _JUST SHUT UP, MUSTANG!”_

Ed kicked and howled again, straining desperately to get away and clap his dangerous hands together, and Roy simply held him tighter, and laughed.

The entire rest of the street continued to stare at them like they were some sort of circus freakshow, an engrossing and entertaining spectacle, and Roy just couldn’t help but beam away. “Carry on,” he simply had to announce, nodding to all the staring pedestrians along the sidewalks, “Carry on, I’m a military officer, nothing to see here-“

_“Fucking come out here with that smirk on your face!_ ” Ed screeched, flailing wildly even a foot off the ground and continuing to scream like a hyena. _“I’ll beat you up, I’ll beat you up with your own goddamn restaurant, I’ll smash your face in, ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE-“_

“My, Fullmetal,” Roy laughed- not that that had any affect on the continued screeched rant. “Such a precocious boy, yet such a _limited_ vocabulary- I should really see about-“

_“Quit hiding! I see you in there! I fucking see you! Quit hiding, face me like a man, you bastard, I’ll beat you up! I’ll smush you! YOU’RE the tiny insect, NOT me, you raging stupid ASSHOLE, I’ll destroy you, I’ll fucking crush you into teeny tiny microscopic bits that even I’m taller than, I’ll- I-“_

Ed broke off for a moment, chest heaving, still pushing at Roy’s unyielding arms and kicking his feet hopelessly with an air. He gasped once, twice, clearly fighting for words- then just threw his head back to let out a wild, enraged yell, screaming his anger to the sky. The poor restaurant hostess continued to stare blankly away from the doorway, blinking in shock, Roy’s ears rang, the other watching spectators around the street inched backwards a little more, mothers holding their small children back- and Roy just continued to stand there, hoisting Ed up into the air, and fight to restrain his laughter.

“Fullmetal,” he said, when Ed’s wild ranting had finally dialed down into rough, angry gasps for breath, the teen no longer straining to get free to demolish the poor restaurant and its staff. He held him a little bit tighter all the same, too wary of this being a ruse to lower him to the ground just yet. “Fullmetal?”

Ed snarled a little, kicking just a bit harder, but otherwise continued to hang limp and gasping. 

Roy smirked again.

“Fullmetal, all he did is ask if you wanted a kid’s menu.”


	15. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

“I don’t want to talk about it, Hughes.”

“Hm,” the investigator replied steadily, interlacing his fingers together in his lap. “And yet, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

Roy sighed, staring down to the dark wood of his desk, and did not reply.

He was exhausted, and unhappy, and sullen, and did not want to have this conversation. Hughes, of course, did not care whether he wanted to have it or not- which, he supposed, was fair. If he were in Maes’ shoes, he’d insist on… well, talking it out wasn’t his strong suit. He’d probably take Maes to the gym and let him swing it out against a punching bag.

He hadn’t slept in two days. 

“Roy,” Maes sighed, sounding a bit impatient, if not unkind. “You’ve been a walking storm cloud around the office. Your gloominess is so potent it depresses even me, three doors down. And, despite what you think, you’re really not that good at hiding it- your whole team knows you’re not sleeping.” He paused for a moment, silent and evaluative, gaze heavy even though Roy still had his eyes fixated on his desk and couldn’t see him. “It was the dream again, wasn’t it.”

Again. _Again._

Roy grunted sourly, folding his arms with a huff, and once again chose not to answer.

The fact that he’d had this same dream enough times for Hughes to be able to guess it just by the look in his eye was distinctly depressing and irritating. He tightened his arms, resisting the urge to run a hand across his face, and purposefully fought back to the desperate need to let his eyes start to sink shut.

“Roy,” Maes tried again. “Have you talked to him about it? At all?”

This time was finally enough to draw him out of his shell, just enough to lift his head and smirk. “Talked to him? And told him what? Hey, Ed, just thought I’d let you know- I can’t sleep anymore because I keep having this dammed recurring nightmare of you _dying?_ Oh, what’s that? No, I don’t know what you’re supposed to do about it- maybe give me a call every night to read me a reassuring bedtime story, promise me you’re okay?” He let out a cold, bitter laugh and sunk back in his chair, fixating Maes with the coldest, most sardonic stare that he could. “He and Al have enough to worry about. They don’t need to spend any of their time trying to fix my problems.”

“And now you’re just being difficult,” Maes murmured, but Roy didn’t care enough to find a rebuttal. 

It just kept happening. More and more, now, the more dangerous the missions Ed took, the worse this danger with the homunculi got… the more often he had the dream.

Of Ed dying in his arms, and Roy not being able to do anything to stop it. 

It’d pass. It always did. He'd stagger through a few days of haunted sleep, full aware that every time he closed his eyes, it’d come back, until eventually exhaustion claimed him and knocked him out and he passed into a dreamless stupor. He’d be fine. By the end of the week, he’d have wrenched himself somewhere back to his normal self.

And for now, he’d just grit his teeth, and try to block it all out. 

“Look, if you won’t talk to him, and you won’t talk to me- all I’m saying is, at least give the matter some thought yourself, Roy. Maybe if you just try and figure out why these dreams, why _Ed_ , it’ll help get them to stop.” Maes hesitated, giving a short, nervous laugh. “I mean, you don’t exactly have bad dreams like this about Hawkeye or me…”

Roy rolled his eyes in annoyance, saying nothing. He did, actually, sometimes, but that was rather beside the point, wasn’t it? They all had nightmares, and Hughes and Hawkeye had been rather common figures in his for a while, but this one- how recurrent it was- how _constant_ it was… 

How it never ceased to horrify him…

“I’m usually able to figure it’s a nightmare, now,” he murmured at last, cold smile twitching onto his face, still avoiding Maes’ eyes. “Can never wake myself up from it, though.” He shrugged with a forced, dispassionate breath. “Maybe I should’ve taken that quack psychiatrist up on that lucid dreaming offer? You know, after Ishval? Who knows, maybe that could’ve-“

“You care about him.”

Roy grimaced sourly, fingers twitching at the interruption. “…Everyone in this office cares about him, whether he’s willing to see that or not.”

“You care for him as more than just a friend,” Maes pressed stubbornly. “You want to protect him- and it scares you that you can’t.” 

Roy gritted his teeth, tensing, and did not reply.

His best friend sighed in the new silence, leaning forward in his chair to try and meet Roy’s eyes, and when that failed, rested his hands on his desk, seemingly refusing to move away from this. “I’m not saying restrict him to Central, give him a kiss on the forehead, and tell him you’ll protect him from all the monsters in the world. I _am_ saying that you might want to tell him to stop being so damn lax with his own safety, not because it creates more paperwork for you, but because it actually scares you and the others, and you don’t like seeing him get hurt.” He paused, leaning forwards just a little more. “It’d mean a lot more coming from you than me, Roy. I’m an overprotective nag, to him. You’re…”

“What?” Roy asked sharply, finally lifting his tired eyes up to glare right back into Maes’. “What? A father figure? Is that what you were going to say?”

Maes tensed slightly. 

“Somebody that he respects, and if you speak to him as an equal, he’ll listen to you as one,” his friend said after several uncertain moments- but it was not convincing. 

He knew what Maes had meant.

And so Roy put on his best, most confident and irritating smile, rubbed his tired face one more time, and looked Maes right back in his worried eyes. “Please, Maes,” he said flatly, reaching over at last to pluck his paperwork back up from the corner of his desk. “The last thing Fullmetal wants is another father.”


	16. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

In retrospect, Roy probably should’ve been a little bit thoughtful when assigning this last mission.

The thing was, he really hadn’t known. He hadn’t been keeping track. He hadn’t counted. He hadn’t even _known_ until Havoc had had to go lug an empty box out of storage to be the new home for Fullmetal’s mission reports concerning the stone, commenting that they ought to throw the kid a party, an anniversary, of sorts- because it was his hundredth lead.

One hundred missions to find the Philosopher’s Stone.

And one hundred times, now, that he had come back empty handed.

Because of course Ed would have been keeping track, even if Roy hadn’t. Of course Ed would’ve tallied each and every time they’d gone to hunt down that damn stone, that damn stone Roy was starting to believe did not exist. Of course Ed would’ve let the cumulative total weigh down over his shoulders so heavy until it crushed him, taking on each self-perceived failure in his constant mission to never once spare himself responsibility, pain- or guilt. 

Well, in retrospect- many, many things were true. 

None of those things changed the fact that Ed had set the mission report down flatly on his desk, blinked down at his feet, and just stood there for several silent seconds.

Then, he’d burst into tears. 

Roy wasn’t entirely sure how they’d even ended up the way they were now, just that they had. Roy with his arms around him, trying to calm him down, get him to listen, to breathe, something, _anything._ Ed’s metal hand clutched around his so tightly it felt like something was grinding the bones together, his sleeve soaked with his sobbing. He hadn’t even said so much as a single coherent word since stepping into his office.

Roy was thoroughly relieved the rest of his staff had already gone home for the night. If there had been any others, he had no doubt Ed would’ve taken off to let his broken walls crumble down around him in the deserted stairwell instead.

Roy said many things. He said everything that he could think of, no matter how bitterly unhelpful they all obviously were or not. Some moments, his mouth just ran like Hughes’, promising him others he could do it, that he’d find it, that he wasn’t a failure, that Al was still _here;_ then, sometimes, Roy would be silent, because as much as he needed to try and do something to help, he knew in his heart that there were no words that could ever fix this.

Ed never did reacted in any way except to just hang in his arms and sob even harder. 

The minutes slipped by, and with them Ed’s strength was sapped. He was exhausted and strained and guiltstricken and probably hadn’t slept or eaten or even rested properly in days, and trembling there in Roy’s arms, gasping out choked, wretched sobs was no restful thing. He sobbed until he hiccuped and coughed, and Roy held him tighter, and he coughed until he crumbled, and Roy caught him as he fell, holding him now as tight as he could and letting him breathe and wishing with all he had there was something he could do to fix this.

“T-there’s…” Ed stopped, hanging his head. He choked again, almost moaning with the force of it. His voice was hoarse and destroyed, so thick with traces of tears and exhaustion it was barely understandable at all. “…there’s no stone at all. Is there?”

Some twisted part of Roy’s heart sunk like a stone, and the hopelessness of the words slammed into him with the weight of a firetruck. 

“It’s-“ he gasped out, voice cracking, almost breaking into nothing. “It’s n-not even _real.”_

Roy stopped, too. His throat tightened painfully, eating away all his words, and for a moment, even his breaths. He closed his eyes, leaning the back of his head against Ed’s.

A hundred leads on the stone. Each just as false as the last. 

Two boys knocked down for trying to play god, and two boys who’d been chasing the power of one for years- to never grasp anything more substantial than smoke.

“I don’t know,” Roy murmured. 

Ed flinched, so badly he nearly fell straight out of Roy’s arms down to the floor. He gasped through another sob, shaking his head back and forth, and moaned something that sounded suspiciously like his brother’s name.

Roy swallowed hard, running a slow hand down to squeeze the alchemist’s fingers. “But I do believe there is a way. Stone or not, there’s some way out there for you to do this. And, whatever it is, I believe that you’ll find it, Ed.”

And that, at least, was the truth. Roy’s truth.

Whether Ed believed it or not, Roy _did,_ and that, at least had to count for something. 

Ed shook his head for several miserable, broken moments longer, saying nothing, not even breathing, simply just hanging there limply in his arms. He gasped in several more hitched, unsteady breaths.

Then he broken down into tears again, and Roy could do nothing but hold him tighter.


	17. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang

Drinking with Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang was a very exact science. 

It had taken Riza a long while to precisely measure it out, partitioning each stage with its emotional hallmarks, the presence and amount- and source- of tears, and, of course, the number of drinks. The first few outings, her predictions had been off, not by much, but enough, just enough- and the only reason her superior had managed to avoid arson charges was because Alex Louis had found the charred pattern of a dolphin Roy had burned into his yard charming.

Suffice it to say, Riza had never wanted _that_ experience to repeat, and from then on had made it a top priority to dissect the disaster twins’ drinking habits down to the last letter so she could better chaperone them away from downright criminal activity.

It was now four years since that ludicrous night of drunken, barely sane, definitely illegal shenanigans, and nothing had changed. Nothing at all. 

She was grateful for small mercies, she supposed. 

At least they hadn’t gotten _worse._

The first drink was just enough for them to get started. Both men would knock back two quick shots of vodka straight away, just wanting to speed up their night of inebriation, then order two beers to be chipped away at over the next hour. This first drink was simply to loosen the tongue, get them talking. It seemed to be enough to temper Roy’s usually surly attitude and distract Maes’ from insisting he finish every last story about his family.

The first drink was normally when Riza tapped out. 

She has to stay perfectly sober, of course, if she had any last _hope_ of dealing with either one of the men steadily drinking themselves into oblivion around her- never mind both of them together. 

The second drink, nursed over the hour, was typically the last of what was needed to banish away Roy’s personal storm clouds, if he’d had a bad day at the office. It was also, unfortunately, all that was needed to set Maes off on an unstoppable train chattering about his family. 

Most other patrons tended to move a stool or two away, at this point, grimacing uncomfortably at the man who had been running his mouth nonstop about how proud he was of his daughter for managing to button her shirt this morning.

The third drink was another round of beers, to be nursed over yet another hour. By this point, however, the soldiers had lost their usual grasp on their inhibitions- to horrifying results. Maes would start weeping half an hour in. Roy would pound him on the back with every sob about Gracia or Elicia or, oddly enough, Scieska- she wasn’t quite sure if the colonel thought he was being funny (he wasn’t) or if he thought he was actually helping (he also wasn’t). Riza had seen these back slaps result in Maes spitting out mouthful after mouthful of beer, twice spattering the bar with half-chewed chips, and once had even burst into even greater tears, as he’d been convinced his own best friend had been trying to beat him to death.

Never once had she seen these backslaps help Maes’ waterworks, but this did not deter Roy from giving them.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth drinks were the return of the vodka shots, and the end of any slow drinking for the evening. By this point, the soldiers’ deterioration was inevitable. Maes’ tears would continue, increasingly dramatic and increasingly silly; other patrons would begin to drift back over to him, just to watch a grown man somehow sob and double over and laugh into his hands all at the same time. Roy’s backslaps would slowly taper off as he lost the coordination to manage them, transforming, instead, into hysterically stricken mirth at Maes’ drunken tale of the night. 

Riza could never forget the day she’d first seen her superior wipe tears from his eyes at the barely coherent story of Maes’ missing boot.

She wished she _could_ forget the days she’d seen him do the exact same thing- _over the exact same story-_ at least three times in the future.

Embarrassing and stupid as it was unbecoming of an officer, in her opinion. She could’ve had them both reprimanded on the spot for being so thoughtlessly, thoroughly _braindead._

Drink seven tended to be their undoing. Maes, of course, was bigger than Roy- Roy, who she suspected had been drinking since he’d turned twelve. Whatever the case, their tolerances matched, and this was the limit for them both. Roy would unfailingly get the brilliant idea to take Maes out for a spin on the dance floor, Maes would never once think to turn him down, and she and the rest of the bar would be treated to the sight of two drunken fools tripping over their own feet and singing (screeching) at the top of their lungs. They stumbled into tables, they laughed themselves into stitches, and nearly always tended to end up on the floor, Roy in Maes’ arms, sobbing on his shoulder about something he’d found hilariously funny, and Maes, words stumbling and slurred and choked, proclaiming for the whole room to hear that Roy had Gracia’s waist, but the feet of a spastic gazelle.

Roy had once tried to dip Maes. 

Coincidentally, shortly after, Maes had been rushed to the hospital with a head injury.

It was at that point in the night that Riza, fishing the bills out of her superior’s wallet, would thank a very amused bartender for his service, then heave one drunken officer up under one arm, and his even drunken friend under the other, and haul them towards the door. Staying any later at that point would entail a critical mission failure, as it was an invitation for Roy to rediscover his love of pyrotechnics, and for Maes to suddenly want to try his luck with darts- with his throwing daggers. 

With all the assorted laughter, blood, and tears that would entail.

Still, though, Riza thought, turning her gaze back to examine fifth-drink-along beaming Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang, their arms slung around the other, both doubling over with laughter she hadn’t seen from her superior in months, she determined that all the risks, embarrassing displays of insanity, and her own personal headaches, were worth it.


	18. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

When Ed was forced into accepting the mission with Colonel Bastard, he’d known it was going to fucking going wrong from the very damn start.

He just hadn’t known it’d go wrong like _this._

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, hustling on as absolutely quickly as he could manage. With a grown ass man draped all over his shoulder, legs barely holding his own weight up anymore, and Ed pretty much having to walk for the both of them, that was not very fast at all. “Come on, we’re almost to a safe zone, Mustang! Can’t you walk any faster?!”

The bastard panted something absolutely incoherent by his ear, shaking and sweating over his arm, but let Ed pull him forwards another stumbled few steps anyway. Ed managed to get them (somehow) up to the next patch of trees, the both of them slinking under the blue dusk and darkening shadows to hide. By the way Mustang all but crumpled when they stopped there, it was not a moment too soon.

“Hang on,” Ed hissed, gingerly propping the colonel up against the tree as best he could. “Let me look ahead for a second. I’ll be right back.” He waited to make sure Mustang was supported enough, breathing heavily and head pillowed against the dark, frowning at him with narrowed eyes.

“…Don’t die,” he whispered. Then, he bolted off without another word.

First, Mustang had complained sourly a stomachache early this morning. Ed had suspected he’d only said anything at all because he wanted to comment disparagingly on the low quality of whatever posh restaurant he’d been to the night before. 

Ed had told him not to throw up on his shoes and kept walking.

When it’d looked like Mustang actually did have a fever, just a few hours later, Ed had accused him of psyching himself up so much about this supposed food poisoning that he’d gotten himself sick. Bastard should try eating ants and wild rabbits like Iuzmi had made him and Al. He’d sat behind a desk so long he’d forgotten the end of the world wasn’t slightly overcooked chicken.

When Mustang had actually thrown up, right on enemy territory, then crumpled straight to the floor and said in a shaky, horribly unsteady voice, _Ed, something’s_ ** _wrong,_** he’d finally realized it was not the bastard just being stupid.

Something was very badly wrong.

Mustang had been so sick they’d had to back out of the mission midway through infiltration. There’d been no way he could continue on; he wasn’t even well enough to be left sitting in some dark, overcast corner while Ed went on by himself. They’d somehow managed to sneak out of the worst of it, Ed supporting Mustang more and more with each sprint burst as they jumped from hiding place to hiding place. 

By the time they’d made it somewhere safe enough for Ed to radio back to (a now very worried) Hughes and tell him what had gone wrong, Mustang hadn’t even been standing on his own. 

Their guess was poison. Something as long ago as the very night before. 

Something that had now had a long time to make him sick.

Something bad. 

Whatever it was, exactly, Ed didn’t know- all he _did_ know was that it was something he had to get Mustang back to camp and out of here _now_ for.

Just one problem: 

Ed was starting to think Mustang wouldn’t make it that far.

Ed swallowed hard, forcing his own slowly increasing horror back. All that mattered was the coast was clear, and they could head on. He turned back, squinting through the dark back up towards the colonel’s shuddering form. “There’s no one here,” he stage-whispered back, just loud enough for him to hear. “We can keep going- hang on-” he said, starting to trudge back up the hill.

Mustang, trembling and panting, did not even raise his stricken eyes to look at him. He clutched harder at his stomach, legs wavering traitorously again.

Then his arm slipped out from around the tree, and before Ed knew had realized what was happening, he’d tumbled to his knees, then slid straight down the hill.

“M- _Mustang!”_ he nearly cried, panic clutching around him in a vise. He barely managed to keep his voice hushed at the sudden, horrific sight, bolting forward to grab him but all but helpless but to slide with him and try to cushion his fall. The colonel grunted and gasped and spasmed, holding himself and all be shouting as they fell; even their final resting place in a pile of pine needles brought no respite, the man ashen-faced and expression twisted so badly it looked as if he was about to scream.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he begged, “it’s okay, don’t say anything, you’re fine, _shh, shhhhh-“_

It wasn’t helping. God, the look on his face was about to turn into a howl any second now. 

“Mustang, please-“

The colonel sucked in a tight, strangled breath, face twisting horribly again. His black eyes shocked open.

And without any more options left, Ed just lunged forward and clapped one desperate hand over his mouth.

Mustang screamed, all right.

And it was muffled enough to that no one would hear it.

Besides Ed, anyway. 

That choked, nightmarish whine of agony, Mustang writhing underneath him, his hand clutched desperately over his feverish, strained face, was going to haunt him for a long, long time.

When it was finally over, the colonel limp and exhausted, panting into his hand, he looked so drained that Ed knew there was no moving him. Mustang was just too hurt this time. He wasn’t standing up again. He probably couldn’t even sit. They were stuck now, helpless to do anything but wait for Hughes to find them. 

And Ed couldn’t do anything but sit there with him, and wait.

He closed his eyes tightly, bowing his head, and had to take several moments to just breathe, too- battling the heartstopping fear he’d felt rising in his chest the entire time.

“Don’t die,” he whispered, hot tears burning down his cheek. “ _Don’t die.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't die :) Hughes rescues them, they make it back to Central, Roy gets diagnosed with appendicitis, and Ed spends the next several months making fun of him for his own body trying to kill him :D


	19. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

  


"You look dumb.”

Roy, halfway through turning the page to move on to the next selection, sighed. He raised his hand up to pinch at his forehead, massaging away the headache was sure was to come.

“I know you’re of the opinion that our dress uniforms look like- well, dresses, and that you’d never be caught dead in one. However, you’d do well to remember that that is also _your_ dress uniform, Edward.”

But rather than be swayed or convinced- in any way whatsoever- Ed merely scoffed at this, pushing himself a little more upright so he could point over his shoulder. “What? No, I didn’t say _you all_ look dumb- I said _you_ look dumb. Hughes, dress uniform and all, looks totally normal! You, however, look dumb. It’s a simple statement of fact. Dumb. Moronic. Stupid. Idiotic. Foolish. Imbecil-“

“Well, this is fun.”

“Statement of fact, bastard!”  


Roy sighed, squeezing his eyes. He should’ve known cracking open Maes’ photo album of a birthday present anywhere close to the vicinity of his office’s resident smartass would be a very bad idea. 

“I wait with bated breath, Fullmetal, to hear your surely eloquent and well thought out explanation for why I look so objectively dumb here. When, of course, it is impossible for _anything_ to be objectively d-“

“You’re glaring at the camera,” Ed stated, pointing harder over his shoulder. “That’s dumb.”

“I- beg your pardon?” he stammered. “That’s-“

“This is clearly meant to be a joyous, celebratory occasion. Hughes is smiling.”

“He’s _always_ smi-“

“This photograph is clearly meant to be used to remember a happy event. I bet everybody else around you was smiling. I bet the photographer was smiling. Hughes, again, is smiling- but then there’s _you.”_

Roy sighed again, squeezing harder at his forehead, and contemplated if an aneurysm or a stroke would be less painful than finishing this conversation. “If you’re going to stand there and pretend that _you_ don’t pout about and glare with every camera turned your way… with as much complaining you do all the time? I’d be surprised if-“

“Oh _really?!”_ Ed demanded, leaning forwards again. There was a sudden, foreboding glee in his voice, a glee that told him without even needing to look the simply _delighted_ look there’d be on his subordinate’s face as there was an abrupt rustling behind him, the kid jumping to prove him wrong. “Oh really?! You think so, bastard?! Is that what you think?! _Really?!_ Well, read it and weep!”

Roy frowned. 

He looked at Ed. 

He looked at the picture thrust so rudely in front of his face, a wallet-sized snapshot of Ed, Al, and Winry- where Ed was, in fact, smiling. They all were, in fact, but Ed right along there with him, beaming at the camera like he’d known back when it was being taken it’d be used to someday prove Roy wrong.

He looked back at Ed.

“I don’t like you,” he muttered, scowling, and pushed the picture out of his face to start to turn the page again.

Ed snickered loudly, allowing his picture to be pushed away probably only because he was still getting to laugh at him. “There you have it, Amestris! This is what your esteemed Roy Mustang really is! An old, crusty, glaring, pouty, emo douchecanoe who thinks skulking about, pouting and glaring, makes him look cool!” 

Okay, now wasn’t _that_ going too far? “D-douche-what? Em…o? I-“ he sputtered, mind at an absolute shock. Was Edward simply making up random sounds to use as insults now? “I- now, that’s just- _what?_ Are you-“

“Oh my god, oh my _god,”_ Ed crowed again, jumping up to peer back over his shoulder to the new page of the photo album. “Oh my god, look at you with Hawkeye! You look so dumb! You look so _dumb_ , Mustang! Why are you looking at her like that? Why? _Why?!_ Douchecanoe! _Douchecanoe…!_ ” 

Roy sighed, pinching a hand to his forehead again to the chorus of Ed’s cackles, and determined that, yes. Dying of a stroke would be less painful than enduring this after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written at well past three in the morning. That is why... er... that, happened :)


	20. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

“You have to go… you have to go… Mustang, y-you- you _have_ to…”

Roy tensed, one hand gripping even tighter against the alchemist’s shoulder, and shook his head.

No. He didn’t have to. 

And he wasn’t going to.

“M- Mustang-“ Ed choked again, starting to crumple. “You have to… there’s n-no other- other w…way…”

“No,” he growled. One hand stayed tense against Ed, supporting him in every way that he could, but the other he kept pulled away, raised and coiled and ready to snap. “There is another way. There’s _this_ way, Fullmetal.” He pulled a little closer, cradling him closer with all the support he had to give, and when the kid gasped and spasmed and doubled over in pain he just held him tighter, waiting and ready as if a caged animal- ready and waiting to snap.

Ed was right. He _could_ leave right now. He could get up, leave Ed kneeling here on the floor, bleeding all over himself and grasping at his stomach in desperation and agony, and _alone._ He could get up and storm through the rest of this base to blow their enemy apart- each and every one of them..

And he wasn’t going to.

No matter how much faster it might potentially be- he wasn’t going to do this like that.

“Mustang, _please-“_

I’m not doing it, Fullmetal,” he hissed. “End of discussion.” 

Ed broke off for a moment, just gasping, just trying to breathe, words clearly stolen from him with each and every new wave of pain. He curled over desperately, rough pants torn out from him with every shudder- and Roy was just unable to do a damn thing more for him than be there.

The enemy would come for them. And when they did, Roy would be ready. He wasn’t known as the Flame Alchemist for nothing, and just because he despised his title did not mean he wouldn’t use it to the fullest extent of his power in order to protect those under his command and his care.

_They won’t know what hit them._

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he swore roughly, curling his arm even closer around Ed. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself, so shut your mouth, and let me do my job. You’ll be fine, Fullmetal, because they’re not touching you again.”

Ed shuddered violently again, head ducked against his chest, each breath hard-fought and shaking. He choked something out that was so garbled and pain-stricken he couldn’t understand it, gasped out a moan, then tried again, shivering and frantic against his chest but the words, finally there.

“D-don’t- Mustang, _don’t-_ “ he cried out, doubling over again, and Roy gasped. “Please-“

“Shut up, Fullmetal! Don’t you _dare_ ask me to leave again, because I’m _not!_ I’m staying here with you and that’s fin-“

“Don’t… g-go…”

Roy stopped. Something anguishing tightened in his throat, and his frantic, racing heart stuttered to a shocked halt.

Then, that same unbearable, undeniable _something_ clenching in his chest again, Roy softened his grip to gently squeeze Ed’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to,” he promised tightly, voice wavering, then returned his gaze towards the waiting door with his hand tensed and ready to snap.


	21. Art/fic: Edward Elric, Maes Hughes, and Roy Mustang

There was the scuff of a boot against the ground. 

Then again.

Then, a third time.

That was all the noise there was out here, in this crypt of a desert. Boots scuffing against the ground, and the very occasional sound of someone breathing.

That was rare, though. 

Most of the people that were out here weren’t breathing.

“You should get some sleep.”

Oh, right- and that. Sometimes, very rarely, someone broke the silence by speaking. 

That wasn’t too often, either.

Not much to talk about, out here.

“Hmph.”

“It’s my turn on watch, Fullmetal. It’s your shift in a few hours, so you’ll need all the sleep you can get.” The Flame Alchemist grunted softly, just like Ed had just a moment before, then resettled himself against the wall. “Look at Hughes- he’s got the right idea.”

“I’m not tired.” 

“Doesn’t matter. Look at Hughes- sleep anyway.” 

“I said I’m not tired, bastard. Leave it alone.”

There was a second grunt- although this one was more of a rough sigh, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with just a hint of impatience. “You really ought to listen to us, Fullmetal.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then, as predicted, the exhaustedly angry, scathing reply. 

“Why? Because you’re my superiors? Because you’re older than me, so you just automatically know better? Is that it? You’ve been on this stupid planet a couple years more than I have and that just automatically earns you a stamp as wiser?”

Roy sighed quietly again. There was a stilted, uncomfortable silence.

“Because,” he finally said softly, dead voice nearly lost to the wind. “We’ve both done this before. You haven’t.”

After several moments, Ed just let out a small, sullen huff. That, more than anything else, marked him with his age- though it wasn’t the number that was important. 

Too young.

They all were. 

“…So, what, then?” Ed muttered back, voice even more withdrawn than before. There was still that bitter snap of anger, though, that same familiar whip of cold irritation because he was too hurt to listen to someone try to help him and respond with anything else. “Are you going to tell me that this is all normal, then? That it’ll get better if I just give it time? Or if I try and drink it away like you?”

Roy, to his credit, didn’t stiffen. He did not even flinch.

“It certainly is normal,” he said at length, the pause and weight heavy in the air. 

He didn’t go on, and by the silence that Ed gave him back, he didn’t need to.

After several moments, Roy cleared his throat softly. “You should sleep,” he repeated. “Tired or not. You never know when you’ll get your next chance to sleep, out here- you need to learn to be able to sleep whenever you get the opportunity, because your next one might not come for days.” He paused for a moment, and when Ed did not reply in any way, tried again. “I’m on watch, and in a few hours, when it’s your turn, I’ll wake you up. But you won’t be any good to use if you’re nodding off because you weren’t able to sleep now. You need to at least try it, Ed… no matter how much you might not want to.”

There was more scuffing of boots against the ground. More Ed shifting. More soft, almost-words that quickly devolved into nothing but an unsteady breath.

Then, finally: “I don’t like sleeping. Not out here. Not since… I always…”

It was quiet for a few moments. For the first time, Ed’s voice hadn’t been an irascible, quiet snarl, like he was a hornet’s nest waiting to be provoked.

It was brutally, agonizingly genuine- so much so that the muttered anger of before had been greatly preferable.

This was honest. And the honest truth hurt.

It was not an annoyed snap, any more. 

It was just small. 

_Like a child’s._

“That’s another reason why you should try and sleep now,” Roy said, voice steady and soft.He paused, shifting just a little; there was a quiet, muffled sound like a pat on the shoulder. “You’re not alone now. We’re here, Fullmetal… we’ll wake you up if you need it.”

Ed did not say anything back. At first, there was nothing at all, just the long silence of the desert and the even thicker quiet between them, like there was something strange and horrible here that even this war did not want to disturb. 

Then, there was the small, hushed sound of Ed’s sigh of defeat.

A few moments later, Roy’s fist nudged gently against Maes’ shoulder.

Maes, finally allowing himself to relax as much as could be had, smiled a slight, bitter smile back, and as silently as he could, shifted over to lean his head against Roy’s shoulder for real.


	22. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang

The whole time Maes was cleaning up, Roy did not move an inch.

He sat there on the floor, down where Maes had left him and swaying surrounded by bottles, parts of his uniform, and stains he was rather sure he was glad it was too dark to see. He swayed as Maes paced around him, cleaning up what he could and ignoring what he couldn’t, blinking dully, and totally unresponsive to all that was happening and being said. 

He didn’t even resist to Maes gathering up every empty, rolling bottle into his arms to clink and almost shatter; didn’t say a damn word when he pulled up the nearly full ones, too. Maes didn’t care if he was throwing away a bottle of sentimental schnapps that was all he had left to remember his father by or some of the lowest quality whiskey from that dive around the corner. He did not care, he was past caring, he could not have ever cared less about anything in his life, he wanted it all _gone._ He grabbed it all so aggressively and piled them in the sink even more violently it was a wonder some didn’t break, and even then he still just couldn’t give a damn.

He stayed there then for several moments, hands curled and tense around the counter, head bowed, and breaths so hard and uneven it hurt.

The whole apartment smelled like a damn brewery- and that was if he was being nice about it. It turned his stomach.

It was still better than recent memory, it had not only smelled but _looked_ like a slaughterhouse. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders stiff and hands trembling and chest tight, and for a moment was so overwhelmed he even couldn’t do anything more.

There was a soft, muted thump from the room behind him. A quiet groan.

Maes clenched his jaw, eyes squeezing shut even tighter. 

Then, without allowing himself a second thought, he pushed himself to turn roughly back around and storm back over towards where Roy still sat, waiting for him- now leaning limply against the wall.

“Well?” he barked. “Got something to say for yourself?”

Roy blinked dully, his tired, vacant eyes drifting up to him. His mouth twitched a little; a soft, incoherent grumble. Then he just leaned back against the wall. 

Maes’ eyes narrowed.

“I _said,”_ he hissed furiously, “do you have something to say for yourself?” He moved closer, leaning down to try and glare or intimidate the slumped figure into submission and somehow only growing more incensed when this did not work. “Or are you just going to sit there, drunk and stupid, and pretend like drowning your sorrows by slowly killing yourself is sustainable, Roy? Like you can just keep- keep _doing this,_ and not someday end up dead in the gutter?” He advanced a step further, white hot rage piercing through his spine so violently he shook and Maes kicked his foot out hard, slamming it into the wall with an earsplitting _crack_ that made Roy, even in his drunken haze, flinch- but he otherwise, still, did not respond. “Or do you not really want to become Fuhrer after all? Do you not actually give a damn about trying to help Ishval at all? Is all you care about just selfishly drowning in your own guilt and leaving us and the world behind?!”

Being shouted at, however, didn’t work any more than being ignored had.

Roy didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t react any way at all.

Maes cursed at him again, dropping to his knees to forcibly haul Roy off the wall, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him like a toy. “Say something, you drunk _fool!_ You can’t keep doing this, Roy, you’re going to kill yourself!” he yelled, yelling it right in his face, shaking him back and forth, manhandling him rougher than he could’ve possibly deserved- but his best friend still just did _nothing_ but just stare blankly downwards, eyes empty and hollow as caves.

It was obvious the words were too much for him to comprehend now. It was obvious Roy was too drunk so he just wasn’t trying- simply allowing them and Maes’ anger to wash over him because he didn’t have it in him to care.

He didn’t even care. 

He’d drank himself stupid and half dead, _again,_ knelt there sluggishly _bleeding_ because glass and stupid drunks did not mix, _again,_ swayed in Maes’ grip because he was probably asleep on his feet- and Roy still just didn’t care.

Maes’ breath caught painfully again, struggling in his chest, and once again, he found himself too overwhelmed to even think. His hands fell slack and limp, trembling in his lap, the cold air that reeked of alcohol closing in around him and he half crumpled, eyes shut and a ball of misery and helplessness and anger swimming in his chest until he wanted to scream.

What was he supposed to do? What the hell was he even supposed to do anymore?

He couldn’t save Roy from himself. Not even when he needed it so badly, because he’d never make it to Fuhrer like this but his drive to get there was probably the only thing that kept him remotely sane.

Not when Roy so expressly and devoutly did not want to be saved.

There was a soft touch on his knee, cold and uncoordinated fingers poking uselessly. Maes let Roy fumble away, not in him to try and stop it anymore. He felt Roy try to grapple, struggling to lift find someone where on Maes to grab, making small noises in the back of his throat, then finally found purchase on the edge of his shirt. 

“…Stop,” he mumbled blearily, though only after another long silence, as if he’d just forgotten how to talk. “Y-you… should stop.”

“Shut up,” Maes muttered again. He didn’t care what Roy had latched on to, in this state of exhaustion; his ramblings never made any sense and they certainly never did anything to improve Roy’s state of mind. “I’m not stopping anything. You-“

“You don’t… like it. You-“ Roy broke off, brow furrowing as if this was incredibly difficult for him to say. Knowing him many bottles Maes had cleaned up before, it probably was. He still seemed to be having immense trouble actually looking him in the eye, dark, anguished, glazed eyes darkened by shadows and haunted by nightmare blinking fuzzily somewhere around his hair. “You don’t… you’re always… sad.” He blinked again, mouth quivering, then pulled a little at his shirt. “…You should stop.”

Maes stared at him. The painfully slow, borderline incoherent words slowly filtered through his exhaustion and own burdening sense of helplessness, one at a time. 

“…I’m sorry,” Roy slurred quietly, then let his tired eyes flicker half-shut and again thumped against the wall. He looked so still and limp it was as if his intention was to sleep there- as if he _wanted_ to sleep for all eternity. 

Something close to guilt tightened in Maes’ throat until he could barely swallow it.

When he reached out to wrap his arms around Roy, pulling him closer in an embrace that was probably far more comforting to Maes than it was to Roy, his best friend didn’t react. He didn’t flinch or protest or struggle out of his arms or even try to say a word. Hell, by how perfectly still he was, he might’ve been asleep by now.

Maes held him tighter, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried not to feel like his whole world was falling apart. 


	23. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While sci-fi AU works just fine as a designation, this technically takes place in Xenoblade Chronicles X in the jungle Noctilum, right after NLA crash lands into the planet. AKA scenery porn :'D

“This is so fucking wild.” 

Roy smirked a little, settling himself a little more comfortably back against the tree, and let himself to relax to just watch Ed gesture. “So you’ve said. As always, Pilot, I’m impressed by the all but limitless bounds on your prodigious vocabulary.” 

“Yeah, well, _you_ could stop pretending to be all cool and collected for once, you pompous prick. I mean, _look_ at this place!” Ed spun around, flinging his arms wide and tilting his head back, letting the rain wash over him and face beaming in an ecstatic, brilliant smile that seemed a bit too much for someone who’s metal leg was half in pieces and arm was streaked with slick blood. “I don’t know how you’re content to just sit there and do nothing! Come on, don’t you want to explore? It’s _wild!”_

“Yes,” Roy murmured dryly, barely able to contain an amused smirk. “It’s certainly wild that this planet has oxygen, and doesn’t rain acid, and is otherwise habitable enough for life that we have not yet died.”

Ed scoffed fiercely, dropping his arms to spin around and huff at him. “You’re such a pessimist,” he muttered, hugging his rifle a little closer to use it as a crutch. “You sit over there and mope over all the ways this could’ve gone wrong. Meanwhile, _I’m_ going to go exploring. I’ll-“

“No, you are _not,”_ Roy snapped, reaching out to grab at Ed’s wrist; he barely made off with not just snagging his glove. “Silence your bull-headed death wishes for a moment- we’ve already tempted fate enough today; we need to wait for support- Ed, will you slow _down;_ you’re not going anywhere!”

“But why not?! We’re the first explorers of this place, _ever!_ How can you not want to take a look around?! Come on, Mustang, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! How are you sitting still right now?! Look around us!” 

Roy sighed, trying to put off an aura of vexation… but Ed’s enthusiasm was so infectious he could already feel his own smile starting to worm its way onto his face, no matter how detached and collected he was _trying_ to sound. Ed had a way about these things, and, well… damn it, the kid was right. 

This was just _cool._

But- but, no. Roy coughed, trying to reassert and reorient himself. He was an adult, he reminded himself, and in command, and right now, that meant making the sensible decision, and staying _put._ Not bounding off to go explore the jungle like a child! 

_The… the colorful, and crazy, and amazing, and… really, REALLY cool jungle…_

Roy coughed awkwardly again, forcing himself not to smile even as his face started to warm.“Listen,” he cajoled, gently reeling Ed back in, giving him no choice but to limp with his rifle back under the cover of the tree. “I already looked around some, before I was able to find you. We’d need climbing equipment to get pretty much anywhere. Also, I’m pretty damn sure an eight foot tall pink flower tried to eat me.” 

“Wuss,” Ed huffed again. “Scared off by an itty bitty pink flo… where, exactly…?”

_“No,”_ Roy ordered. He pulled on Ed’s hand again, stubbornly ignoring the sudden bright, suicidally _curious_ light in the kid’s eyes. “I’m not telling you where it is just so you can get yourself eaten. Look, you can’t walk all that well, almost everything around us seems alive and hungry, our beacons say we’re not that far from the mothership-“ He sighed, rubbing a wet hand over his even wetter face. “Here. If it makes you feel any better, I _promise_ we’ll be on the first expedition team that heads back out here. I’ll even pose with the angry pink flower so you can get an embarrassing picture of me to show all the others. But for now, just sit down, for _once_ in your life, and wait for help.” 

Ed hesitated again, trying to turn away and look back out to the wet, rustling forest around them. It was luminous and noisy with creaks and croaks and distant roars Roy had never heard before and outsized them like horses to ants- and Roy could _still_ see the light of curiosity and hunger to explore growing in his eyes all over again. 

Once again, he really couldn’t blame him. 

“But… but are you sure help’s coming?” Ed pressed after a moment, taking a cautious step away again. He was very obviously not worried in the slightest, and just wanted the excuse to go exploring. “Maybe-“

_“Pilot,”_ Roy sighed, this time pulling hard enough to force him underneath the tree’s coverage. “Yes. They are. I got in contact with them, before the rain killed our transmitter. We’ve all got help on the way- and what’s more, we’ll put the rescue team in danger if we’re not where they’re looking for us.” 

That, finally, got Ed’s attention.

The kid shifted for a few moments longer, clearly still trying to work out a solution with his brilliant brain- but Roy was right, and he knew it. Finally- though not without a pout severe enough to kill a puppy- Ed dropped down with a huff, curling against the tree and frowning out into the wet jungle.

Once again, Roy couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry I’m not allowing you to get eaten by predatory gigantic flowers, Ed,” he murmured, and the stubborn huff he got back was so petulant it took nearly all his self control to stop himself from bursting out laughing.

“…The others are okay, then?” Ed asked after a few moments, glancing back at him through his wet hair. There was a faint shadow of worry glimmering in his eyes, now, finally some hint of concern- or, at least, _something_ that was not all but suicidal excitement. “You’re sure?”

Roy smiled faintly, nodding back. He reached out to pat his shoulder, now allowing his own authority to fade that it was no longer necessary. “Yes. I heard them all. Hughes and Al are together; by the sound of it, Hughes took a bit of a knock to the head, so Al’s got his hands full, but they’re fine. Hughes was rambling that they’d crashed into an active volcano.” 

Ed snorted, rolling his eyes. “Assuming it was not Hughes’ ghost making that transmission, that’s absolutely impossible.” 

“Alphonse seemed to agree,” Roy chuckled. Breathing in deeply, he leaned his head back against the tree and stared out into the wet rain. “Riza said she was in a desert of some kind, looked like it was a few quadrants east of here- Hughes and Al are far north. She said an electricity storm was knocking out her connection, but that she’d found shelter and was waiting it out.”

“An… electricity-“

“An electricity storm, yes.” Roy barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Ed, you know, you have to choose. You can’t be the first to explore this jungle _and_ research whatever on earth Riza was talking about. You can only do one.”

Ed wilted with another stubborn pout, frowning down at the mossy ground underfoot. “You could let me do both.”

“But I won’t.”

“But you _could.”_

Roy smirked, shaking his head. “Well. My point is, Al said they were going to start heading towards the mothership. I think that’s Riza’s plan as well, whenever the storm dies down. They’re hoping to meet the rescue teams on their way. Everyone’s doing well, Ed, we just have to wait this out- you’ll see. We’ll all be safe back at the ship in a few days.”

Frowning, Ed turned away again, tilting his head as he looked back out at the jungle. “And why do they get to meet the rescue teams, but we have to stay put? Just because my leg’s broken… I can still _travel,_ bastard…”

“Oh- no. That’s not it.” Yawning, Roy rubbed a hand over his face, nestling his head back against the wet vines. “I actually checked it out when I was looking for you. There’s only one path down off this cliff that we could take without it ending in our probable deaths hundreds of feet down below. There was one path we could’ve taken, but it led right into a valley infested with dinosaurs, so… again. Probable death.”

There was a short, stifling silence.

“…Dinosaurs?”

Roy nodded listlessly, still a bit too overwhelmed to display the proper amount of shock. “From the history books and everything. Big as a skyscraper and ready and willing to squash us under one foot without even trying. Could barely believe my eyes, but… there they were.”

“That’s-“ Ed blinked at him, eyes wide. “That’s evolutionarily impossible, Mustang.”

He shrugged. “I’m not defending it, I’m just saying what I saw. Also saying I don’t think the two of us want to go against a pack of those monsters when you can’t walk and my gloves are soaking wet.”

There was another short silence. Ed looked away again, tilting his head to the side- and slowly, staring to smile. “Dinosaurs, huh…?” he murmured.

It took Roy two seconds to realize why this had been a very tragic mistake- and a splitsecond longer to lunge out and grab Ed and haul him back in a tight hug from behind, laughing into his hair, and stopping him from running off to go see these dinosaurs for himself.


	24. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

A very uncomfortable and unhappy silence dominated the hospital waiting room.

Roy could hear Ed fidgeting, the cheap plastic of his chair creaking in protest with him unable to sit still. “…I don’t know how to tell Al,” he was murmuring, the words low and somehow distorted. “I’m probably lucky the call came in while he was taking a nap or he would’ve been able to figure it out straight away, but… I know can’t keep this from him. I’ll have to tell him…”

Roy nodded slowly, absorbing the stilted, shaken words as he spoke. In his opinion, it was just as lucky he’d managed to stumble across Ed at just the right moment, right when this phone call came in, right when Al was asleep, right when he was standing there in the hallway, silent as a dead man, trembling, in shock… “And you’re sure it’s for real?” he questioned as gently as he could. “He survived the battle in Central- then to just… he really died? Just like that?”

He heard Ed scoff bitterly again, and Roy gingerly turned his chair closer at the sound alone, trying to blindly find his way a little nearer to Ed. “Yes,” the kid sighed, and his voice was sure. “That’s how Pinako told it, and I believe her. It makes sense. He was only alive as long as his stone could sustain him, and it just ran out on him- after everything on the Promised Day, there just wasn’t enough in there anymore.” There was another pause; more fidgeting. “She said she found him right in front of Mom’s… grave.”

Roy blinked blindly. A sharp cold settled over them, like an unwelcome shroud. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell Al,” Ed said again; Roy managed to use the sound of his voice to move just a little closer. “I mean, we never really talked about it, everything’s been so hectic for so long, but he- I know he thought… I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid. But I- I think Al was hoping we could go home with him, after all of this. You know.” Ed made a small, mocking sort of sound; Roy could picture the smirk on his face as plain as day. “Be a family again.” 

And then, the kid laughed, the smirk surely twisting into something bitter, and the shaken anger in the noise was so apparent it cut through Roy like a knife. “He’s not really old enough to remember how Hohenheim left us; he’s never been angry with him like me. He’s always been _dad_ to him, and I never really had the heart to take that away. I hated him but Al didn’t and- and I guess now that I know why he left… I don’t know, I can’t forgive it but I can’t _hate_ it either- I never knew what to feel about it but I guess I’d thought I’d have time to figure it out and now I just- don’t.”

Roy sat there worthlessly silent, unsure of what to say as Ed’s words sped up, transforming into a steady, shaken rant that reeled off the tracks until it broke. He wished desperately he could see Ed’s face; his voice alone wasn’t enough, his words made it sound like he was fine with all of this- but he so obviously _wasn’t._

“…I’m sorry,” he said at last, squinting uselessly in Ed’s direction. Damn _eyes._

“It’s- it’s just stupid, isn’t it?” Ed said back, just as shaky as before; it was as if Roy hadn’t spoken at all. “Al’s the only family I need. He’s all I have, and I’m all he has. Pretty sure we know Mom’s not coming back, by now, and Hohenheim was never really there in the first place, not the only way that mattered, and I- how the hell am I supposed to tell Al that he’s gone? He’s going to be so- god, I can’t believe, the asshole actually went and _died,_ Al’s going to be so upset- and _now?_ He dies _now?_ Everything was supposed to finally be okay!” Ed cried, voice suddenly hinging on just the edge of hysteria. “I thought… I thought it was _over.”_

Roy finally, _finally,_ succeeded in finding Ed. He balanced and steadied himself on the arm of his chair, turning his face towards him as best he could, using the quick, unsteady breaths to keep himself oriented. “Ed,” he said quietly. “It’s okay to miss him.”

“Miss him?!” Ed cried again, jerking noisily away. “I don’t! How- that doesn’t even make any sense! I barely knew him at all! How can I miss someone that I didn’t even _know?!_ And that’s _his_ fault, he had _plenty_ of time to get to know us and didn’t, it’s not fair to Al, he was doing just fine without him, we both were, I… he doesn’t get to just stroll back into our lives then leave, _again,_ that’s not how it’s… it’s…”

Roy reached out cautiously, and a warm stir of relief shot through him when his hand managed to find and rest on Ed’s shoulder. Ed kept on babbling, the words losing strength now, trailing off into nothing as he tried over and over again, never making any more sense with each try. He didn’t shove Roy’s hand off, though, so Roy moved closer, slowly, gingerly, wrapping his arms around him.

And Ed, still, did not fight him.

“…I don’t miss him,” the kid whispered again. His voice was trembling, almost lost to his shirt, and a moment later, it almost broke with a soft gasp of breath. “He’s not my dad. He didn’t do _anything_ for me. I- I- …I’m not supposed to miss him.”

There was silence for a few seconds.

Then, perfectly silently, Ed wrapped his trembling arms back around him, and buried his head into his shoulder.


	25. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow-up to my Taking the First Step oneshot over on FFN. If you’re unfamiliar/don’t remember, basically, blind!Roy and Ed had a super angsty chat on the hospital roof about how he could still be Fuhrer and all of that. Enjoy!

“I feel incredibly lame.”

Ed made a small, choked sort of noise, like it was a huge, smug laugh he wanted to give to that statement and he only just managed to catch just in time- for the sake of what precious little tact that he had. “That all you have to say for yourself?”

Roy paused, squinting up at the overcast sky. It hurt a little, it always did, but every day, he relished this pain, because it meant so much infinitely more than the alternative. “Well.” He paused for a beat. “Yes. It is.”

Ed laughed again, though at least this time it didn’t sound as if he was trying not to mock him. “At least you’re done trying to justify it…” he murmured, thankfully seeming content to let it lie. “Is that why you came back up here? To remember how melodramatic you were and luxuriate in how lame you still are?”

Roy resisted the urge to send an annoyed glare back over his shoulder. He’d deserved that, he figured, and much more, for how he’d acted… Ed was just the only one available with enough mouth on him to give it. Part of him was even grateful for it. “Something like that…”

It was funny, really- how quickly things could change. Just this time last week, it had felt like his whole life was over. There’d been no way forward, nothing to grab onto- everything he’d ever worked for disintegrating through his fingers like sand just like that, and he’d been left just to desperately reach out into the darkness in hope of finding one last tangible hold. Ed shouting at him to get up and keep walking had been all he’d had… and now…

Roy smirked a little at himself, rolling his eyes. 

He really was as melodramatic as Ed said. No wonder Riza kept glaring at him.

“In my questionably credible defense,” he went on at last, allowing himself another small smile, “I don’t think anybody could’ve expected Marcoh to show up like he did.” Even he could hear the decidedly weak lack of fire in his voice, though, and he didn’t even try to fix it, just returning his gaze to the sky. “I really did think I was…” 

He blinked, uneasiness clenching in his chest, and suddenly found himself needing to fixate his eyes on light again- just to prove to himself that he still could.

To his surprise, however, Ed did not rise to laugh at him this time. The former alchemist was quiet at first, not saying anything at all, but then he actually felt him shake his head, waving off the words like he’d already forgotten about it. “I’ve seen worse. In fact, I’ve seen worse whining from _you._ So I’m not really sure what the big deal is. Just don’t do anything that stupid again.”

Once again, Roy found himself wanting to glare back over his shoulder. “Haven’t we already established I wasn’t up here to do anything stupid? I just got lost! I wasn’t going to-“

“I wasn’t talking about _that,_ I was talking about how stupid you got. You still owe me Fuhrer, you dumbass, no matter how much moping you want to do about it- you don’t get to give up just cause of a little thing like blindness, and if you try it, I’ll just punch you again, so you might as well give up on that and keep on kissing ass to get promoted.”

“That’s-“ Roy scowled angrily, hands curling loosely with the sudden urge to push the stubborn teen back. Surely there was a limit, to how much he had to take lying down… Ed really was asking for it, at this point… “My face still hurts from that, you know.”

“Yeah, and you deserved it.” 

Roy rolled his eyes again, refocusing away from Ed again. “Thank you for your candor,” he returned, mouth twitching as he held back a grimace. “I’m sure Hughes would be very proud of you. He tended to agree with any method of settling disagreements if it ended with a punch to my face, and I’m very glad there’s still someone around who enjoys it as much as he did.”

Ed didn’t answer him at first; by the feel of it, he was silently laughing again, taking the same amusement in his misfortune it seemed the rest of the world did. Even when the shaking finally died down, though, Ed still didn’t say anything, the moment for mocking seeming to be passed. A comfortable silence fell, the same silence they had shared the last time they had sat on this roof- and Roy had been as hopeless as he was blind. 

It’d been bearable, because he’d known Ed, of all people, understood the feeling intimately. Both the disability, and the despair. 

And Ed had also come out on the other side of it. 

He’d had every right and reason to drag Roy to do it, too.

And with another gentle nudge, this one less of a punch and more of a friendly push, Ed finally continued on. “Everyone falls down sometimes, you idiot- even smug bastards like yourself. I think we both know it’d be too hypocritical of me to judge you for that… all that matters is that you got up again in the end.”

Roy smiled slightly. “Just like you and Al did?”

“Just like everyone,” Ed said warmly, and Roy knew without seeing that he was smiling.


	26. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

Roy took a deep, meant to be calming breath, folded his arms tighter across his chest, and stood very, very still.

“And this one?” he asked. His voice was distant, warped, and cold, and to even his own ears, not recognizable. 

The pseudo-thug, tough-talking, absolute garbage excuse for a human being next to him laughed, and gave a smile so disgusting Roy wanted to knock his teeth out. 

“Found him scrounging through our records room a little while ago. Thought he was a spy and tried to get him to admit it, but he never really did anything but yell at us. Children are so rude nowadays, aren’t they?” He nudged Roy in the side with another warm, knowing sort of a smirk, an expression that turned his stomach with white hot, infectious, sheer _rage._ “When no one ever turned up looking for him we decided it was nothing worth worrying about and just quit bothering with it.”

Roy tensed again. “You let him alone,” he translated.

The man shrugged easily, as unbothered by this statement as he had been by everything else, and Roy continued to hold very still. “W-well,” he went on after several moments, that cold, steady silence just dragging on into nothing. “So, that other corporal told us the military would be interested in him? You have an asking price, or…?”

Roy, by some miracle, kept his face cold and perfectly expressionless. He tilted his head in a featureless nod, not daring to reveal any damn singe thing. “Hm,” he grunted softly, arms folded.

Said corporal was currently sitting in a holding cell back at HQ, charges of treason and conspiracy stacking up against him and Hughes chomping at the bit to get rid of him. If this operation went well, the man next to him as well as near everybody else in this building were soon to join him. 

If Roy’d had his way, this operation wouldn’t have even happened in the first place, and everyone would’ve already been hauled out in handcuffs… or worse.

“…well?” the (dead) man (walking) prodded after yet another uncomfortable pause. “Do you- er…”

“I’d like the opportunity to speak with him first,” Roy said flatly. He refused to once look at him, arms folded and commanding a cold, expectant silence with nothing more than his glare, gloves heavy as an iron weight in his pockets and heart hammering like a poisonous war drum. “Do you expect me to pay for goods when I can not tell how damaged they are? Was your previous contact this lax, or are you simply expecting to get away with more with me?”

He did nothing more than that. Just stood there and waited, silently commanding an oppressive quiet that could only ever be broken by compliance. There was an achingly uncomfortable, miserable pause, broken only by the prisoner’s ragged breathing. 

Of course, it did not take very long of that to force the man gave in.

Roy barely heard his annoyed mumble as he started to backtrack, the promise of a few minutes alone with him or the irritation in his words, but Roy was good at many things and one of those things was manipulating others to do what he wanted. And right now, he wanted this man out of the room- before his patience shattered and he fucking _forced_ him out.

The man left. Roy was alone.

Alone, with-

Ed. 

He should’ve waited for a moment or two. Should’ve been suspicious the man was watching him, should’ve been wary it was a trap, should’ve been afraid this was simply trying to lull him into a false sense of security. He _should’ve_ listened to the voices screaming a warning in his head instead of the way his heart kept pounding in that same sick, nauseated horror. 

Roy bolted forward, step after step over the grimy ground, and reached out to cradle Ed’s cold, slack face with his palms.

“Fullmetal? _Fullmetal.”_ He shook him gently, his precarious position swaying back and forth as Roy moved him, trying to wake him, something, _anything._ “Fullmetal- Edward-… come on, say something. It’s me. The colonel. Ed…”

Ed swayed loosely back and forth, eyes still shut. Thinner than before. Three months. Now unconscious. Unmoving, silent, cold, limp. Uninjured by appearance but if that _bastard_ was to be believed only because they’d left him in here for weeks on end for it all to heal. Here, left alone, for _months,_ because he’d gone off the damn reservation as usual and it had taken them this long to find him.

“Edward,” he pleaded again, jostling his face gently between his hands. _“Ed.”_

There was no response at all. If not for the faintest shuddering of breath, Roy would’ve thought him dead.

And with that man standing outside, and a whole base of armed and dangerous others who were properly hostile and ready and willing to fire- Roy had no choice but to turn his back on him and leave him behind. 

He tensed, kneeling there on the dirty, frigid stone, misery and anguish bolting through him in a nauseated wave of regret, and tensed his jaw to stop himself from gasping out aloud. 

_Oh, god…_

There was no time. He had to get up and leave him here now or there’d be no saving him at _all._

Roy swallowed hard again, trembling in another angry wave from head to toe, and for one white-hot moment knew nothing but the anguishing, poisoned regret that it was going to be when he turned his back on him. 

Then instinct took over, and he leaned forward to drop his hands from his face and instead hug the limp child to him as tightly as he dared. 

He wasn’t sure why. It certainly wasn’t for Ed’s comfort- Ed, who was not even conscious to feel it, and even if he had been surely wouldn’t have been comforted to know Roy was about to stand and leave. It was incredibly dangerous, if any one of the hostiles around him had chosen that one moment to step into the room. It was horrifically agonizing for _him,_ to hold his thin, freezing body in his arms and know how disgustingly temporary it was and how soon he’d be ripped away-

But he couldn’t stop himself.

He tightened his arms with a shocked gasp, all but choking on the lump in his throat. “I’m coming back,” he promised to Ed’s unhearing ear. “I swear that I’m coming back. I’m not leaving you here, Fullmetal. I… I _promise.”_

His voice broke and his arms tightened in the same motion, dragging Ed closer to him because he couldn’t bear to let him go.

_I’m sorry._

And then, without another word or allowed thought, he let Ed go, turned on his heel, and strode back to the door.

“I’ll take him,” he said, and clenched his jaw so hard it felt like his teeth would shatter.

His hand, worming into his glove in his pocket, was already curled and tense, and when the man smiled broadly back at him, his fingers almost dragged together in a snap.


	27. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, four times Maes carried Roy, and one time Roy carried Maes.

“You absolute drunken _asshole!”_

The eighteen-year-old deadweight draped haphazardly over his arms giggled foolishly, and Maes continued to trudge on down the sidewalk, each step a stomp and each breath a huff. 

Most of the looks he attracted were stricken with amusement and caught with laughter, and that made the whole damn thing so much inexplicably worse. 

“ _I can drink a sailor under the table,_ you said,” he muttered to his trembling best friend, voice sour and mired with a bitter streak a mile long. “ _I can stand on my head with a glass of whiskey in my mouth,_ you said. _I can drink more than a whole battalion and come out so sober I could drive home,_ you, you drunken, foolish, slobbering amateur, stupid, idiotic, _MORON_ of a man, said.” He heaved hard, dragging his roommate tighter over his shoulder, and continued to stomp. “And look at you now.”

Roy continued to sway dizzily by his side, face stuck in a slack, stupid grin. Maes continued to seethe.

“Mr. Ha- Haaa- Hawkeye… d-didn’t let me drink…” He laughed breathlessly, continuing to pant against Maes’ shoulder. “Guess it’s been a few…”

“A few decades?” Maes grunted, continuing to drag. He was lucky Roy hadn’t thrown up all over his shoes. 

Roy cracked up, tripping over his own feet to nearly haul Maes down to the ground left him, gasping and giggling and shaking- and it took all of Maes’ self control not to allow even one tiny smile back.

* * *

Maes would’ve been fine with being shot. Figratively, perhaps. He also would’ve been fine with Roy being shot- albeit a little less fine. Presuming a non-lethal wound.

Taking a bullet for him, though. 

Not really fine with that.

“My side hurts,” Roy mumbled. He stopped, shuddering in place to cough violently, then started to fall.

Maes uncompromisingly tugged him harder over his shoulder, refusing to give in at the tiny, choked cry or the gasp of air, and kept on pulling his bleeding, trembling best friend towards the exit. 

“It- it h- _hurts,”_ Roy moaned again, voice soft and gasping, not even addressed to him anymore. He stumbled and tripped on slick, wet-with-blood flooring, limp but horrifically _lighter_ with blood loss; he was trying, obviously, but if it hadn’t been for Maes he would’ve been flat on his face and not getting up again. “I’m sorry, I- I c-can’t-“

“Maybe you shouldn’t have taken the bullet for me, then,” he snapped, colder than he’d meant it to be, but beyond the angry whiplash of guilt tightening in his chest Roy was lucky it wasn’t worse. “Keep going. We’re almost there.”

Roy shuddered beside him, another broken, mumbled murmur that was too low to discern, and Maes hugging him closer to his side, refused to look, and kept on walking.

* * *

“…and you’re coming to my wedding. You’ll be best man. There’s no one else, so you don’t really have a choice but to show up, Roy. You’ll hand me the rings, and the vow cards, and you’ll make some horrible speech that embarrasses me to the whole room. Then probably shack up with the blonde bridesmaid in a closet somewhere.”

Roy didn’t answer. 

Again.

“And- a-and then-“ Maes forged on, step by step, word by word, because he couldn’t think about how his voice was wavering. “And then, I’m going to have to have a daughter, and then, I’m going to have a son. And you’re going to be there because they need a godfather. No matter how much of a godawful influence you’ll be- you’re doing it, Roy. I’m damn well not naming my son _Roy_ because you couldn’t manage to not keel over out here, you son of a bitch.”

Roy, still, didn’t speak back.

He remained so cold and still next to him he could’ve well been dead- and the look in his eyes before he’d fell had been dead anyway.

Maes didn’t once let himself look at him, and kept walking.

He couldn’t bear the sight, or the sound of his own ragged breaths in his ears- _only_ his own, because Roy’s were so slight there was nothing to hear at all.

“And you’re _not,_ ” he growled, “gonna force my hand and make me leave you behind. I don’t care how many cities you blow up. You’re coming home with me, Roy, and there’s not a damn fucking thing you can do to stop it.”

Maes marched on through the shifting sands, Roy still slung over his shoulders, slumped in the same dead faint that had taken him when the last city had fallen to his hands, and he refused to look back, because all there was left for either of them was what was ahead.

* * *

 

“Shouldn’t be… here.”

“That’s great, buddy.”

“Shouldn’t… b-be…” 

“What? Here?”

“…I…”

Maes sighed, closing his eyes for a vexing, horrible moment, took a deep breath, then kept on walking. “Like I just said: that’s great, then, buddy,” he grunted coldly back. 

Roy shuddered once, shook his head twice, heaved in a breath three times- then veered so violently out of his grip it took all of Maes’ strength to keep him from hitting the ground. 

Maybe he should’ve let him. 

Since he seemed so intent on falling.

“Shouldn’t be…” Roy groaned, but for all his mouth worked, his feet sure refused to. He nearly slipped again, then hiccuped in another gasping breath when Maes refused to let him even slow down. “Shouldn’t…”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be here. Already heard your opinion on that before, Roy.”

The war medals on his uniform clinked gently in the night, ringing together like silver on silver, and somehow, even that soft mumble seemed to swallow up his words like tar.

Maes clenched his jaw, swallowing hard, and went as silent as he wished Roy would be.

“Shouldn’t… be…” His best friend stopped, drunkenly slurring, shifting, trying to find the words. “Be…” 

Maes closed his eyes, wishing he could block it out with every fiber of his being.

“…alive.” 

He kept on walking, and tried very hard not to think about what sort of bleak future he was really pulling his best friend to.

* * *

The day Roy pulled Maes Hughes from the phone booth, bleeding from too many places to count and too weak on his feet to stand, squeezing his ice cold hand in his and hugging his eerily still body to his side, he didn’t think about a lot of things.

He didn’t think about how far it was to his car, or how much blood had already been lost, or the phone left dangling behind on a never answered call to him. He didn’t think about how much bigger Maes was than him, how awkward and difficult this was, how he was borderline dragging Maes on his knees down the rough sidewalk beside him,or how much blood he’d already lost, or how _Maes had been calling him,_ or how freezing cold Maes’ somehow still living hand already was in his own.

He just thought of all the times Maes had carried him home.

That he was now, come hell or high water, going to do the same for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Hughes lives it's me what did you expect Hughes always lives


	28. Art/fic: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note- this is technically an AU for my Distorting Equivalency fic. That means: DOG CHIMERA ROY! :D

Ed curled up a little more under the dripping tree, only half-aware of the gentle rain in his exhausted sleep, and pulled himself tighter to the underneath his refuge. He tucked his face closer into his damp arm, floating in and out of a daze, and tried to zone out to the quiet pitter patter of the rain.

A soft paw nudged at him.

First it was gently at his shoulder, gently enough not to disturb him. Then it was a little bit harder, the imprint of claws dragging along his sleeve. There was a faint, muffled sort of growl by his ear, then another nudge, hardest of all.

Ed tensed a little more, a yawn burdening in his throat. He squinted into his sleeve.

Then jumped, when instead of another nudge, it was a cold nose nuzzling right into his damn ear.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, rousing at last just to bat the wet, intruding face away. He blinked hard, trying to wake himself up, fidgeting as the chimera continued to push at him, then at last managed to get himself sitting up halfway and partially awake.”Well?” he asked, squinting at the dripping, jet black half-dog beside him. “How’d it go?”

Roy blinked at him, shaggy hair dripping directly into his eyes. He shook his head.

Ed sighed back, trying not to let his disappoint show. No shelter, then. “That’s fine,” he murmured, slinking a little closer to the tree. “I didn’t really think we’d find anything worth much out here anyway.”

Roy shook himself out a little, seeming, somehow, just as mournful as Ed about the revelation. Ed wasn’t too sure how much the chimera really understood, but he probably was. Sighing, he pressed himself even tighter back against the tree, and waved with one hand, trying to get him to join him under the little refuge that they had… even though it had ceased to be dry at least an hour ago…

“Come on, you mangy mutt,” he sighed. “We’ll keep looking for somewhere safe tomorrow, when the rain’s stopped. You- hey, Roy, where are you…”

Because Roy ignored his gesture, turning around with a wet flick of his tail. Ed flinched back from the water spray, shuddering and cursing, but then Roy was already padding back over again- and this time, nudging his new find along with him.

An umbrella.

A small, bruised, red umbrella.

Ed blinked. He stared at the umbrella. He stared back at Roy.

The thing looked battered enough that Roy had to have just somehow found it out here, lying abandoned and half drowned under the slowly pouring rain. It was small and frail, weak enough that if the storm picked up the poor thing surely wouldn’t survive, and slick with enough mud and- yep, that was definitely slobber around the handle. Roy had carried it back here in his mouth.

Ed stared down at it in disbelief again.

Roy barked quietly, nudging it a little closer before leaning to nudge at his arm with his nose. “Dry,” he growled hopefully, dark eyes watching him, then pushed it even closer. “Edward?”

For one long moment, Ed was left just sitting there, shivering on the wet ground, and blinking down at him.

Then, he curled in on himself with a weak, trembling laugh, and gave in.

“Come on, Roy,” he called again, one hand curling around the umbrella, the other gently tugging at the mane of fur around his neck. He saw the chimera pad a little closer as he fidgeted with the umbrella for a few moments, trying to get the old and frail thing to work with him, then finally flinched back when it jerked open only to shower down dirt, muddy rain drops, and almost certainly a few bugs.

Roy growled again, batting a paw at the mess. “Edward,” he growled, lower than before, clawing absentmindedly through the pile of dirt.

Ed rolled his eyes, a breath catching in his chest as he moved closer to Roy’s warm, dark side. “Shut up, bastard,” he murmured. He worked for a few moments to get comfortable, trying to both hold the umbrella over their heads and find some position on the cold, wet ground that enabled him to relax before finally grasping it pressed against Roy.

The chimera, as usual, did not protest the contact, and instead simply leaned closer. A low, protective sort of growl came from his throat, a soft and familiar sort of thing, and for just that moment, Ed let himself draw comfort from it, too.

There was a long silence, broken only by the fall of the rain, Roy’s steady breaths, and the occasional growl, against whatever threats the chimera saw and whatever dangers his once superior officer thought he had to protect him from.

“…I’ll fix you, Roy.” Ed carefully, cautiously, allowed his hand to drift upwards, settling in the long hair at his ears. “I know I keep promising that, and it… never happens. Well. I will. We’ll find somewhere safe… we’ll get back to Al and Hughes and everyone and- and then I’ll figure it out. I fix you. I _promise.”_

Roy growled softly again, his tail thumping along the ground. The growl morphed into a low purr, probably at being pet, and he slowly settled his head down on his front paws, curling a little tighter around him. “Edward,” he murmured again.

Ed’s throat tightened. His fingers clenched.

Then he shut his eyes again, swiftly pillowed his head against Roy’s side, and tried to listen only to the rain.


	29. Art: Edward Elric and Roy Mustang




	30. Art/fic: Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd that's a wrap, folks! Thanks so much for reading! Akarri and I would love to hear what you thought about it :D
> 
> About this last drabble- this is actually an AU I've written in before (see my fic To Tomorrow). It's the monsters AU where Roy is a chimera/lab experiment against his will, and Maes is an angel who rescued him and brought him back to their village of other monsters to be safe. (This AU is not mine; I'm just borrowing the sandbow from l-okaeri-l and kyronsite on tumblr!)
> 
> ENJOY! :D

It was on the third day, when the man woke up enough to be speak to him instead of just moan in delirious agony.

The man, not human, because this man that Maes had found, this Roy, was not human. 

Not wholly, anyway. 

Humans weren’t supposed a spotted design of a calico cat dappled along their cheeks. They weren’t supposed to have fingernails on their hands but claws on long, furred, panther feet. 

They were not supposed to have a tail.

But this one did, though Maes knew it was not by birth, or by choice. He doubted almost any part of the lost, abandoned creature he’d carried home like a stray kitten was by choice. The many wounds and the even more numerous, barely healed scars surely weren’t. The fever Gracia had been helping him tend to for three days, the fever that had nearly killed him, surely wasn’t.

Gracia had seen him. Elicia hadn’t, yet… Maes and Gracia were making very sure to keep her very out of this room. For now, at least.

Roy tended to spit fire in disturbed sleep.

_(Then howl with the pain of it as it burned his already raw mouth and tongue.)_

A sudden moan pulled Maes forwards again, pulling him, shivering, out his daze to lean closer, staring down at the man. Creature. Monster. Roy was shivering, too, but he was not cold, his whole flushed face prickled with sweat as it had for the past three days, hair soaked through with it, eyelids flickering and mouth shuddering in the constant beginnings of a groan.

Maes rested his hand softly on his head, holding it there even when Roy twitched away from him, gasping and groaning again at the instinct of it. Roy didn’t like being touched. He could very easily imagine why. “Hey,” he said, smiling at eyes that weren’t looking at him. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Remember?”

Roy twitched again, shuddering horribly under the blankets. His twisted expression twitched even worse, the creature pulling away even as Maes tried to quiet him. “Come on, remember?” he cajoled gently, fingers trailing softly through his hair. “Remember, Roy? Ahh, I hope that’s really your name… you said it when I asked you, but you were already a bit out of it by that point. Sorry for that, by the way… I really was trying to make it easier for you, but you were worrying me. I had to make you sleep- you kept trying to push me off, Roy. Remember? Me, Maes… I told you my name, didn’t I…?”

Roy shifted but this time did not pull away, the fever blurring his mind enough to keep him restless. But, he’d at least learned, yet again, like so many other times before, that the hand in his hair was not there to hurt him. Maes carefully stroked through it again, shushing the slow, choked moan that followed it. “Ah. You know me, regardless… I’m the one who found you. You remember that, at least…? My wife and I, we’re taking good care of you now. You’ll see. Gracia, she’s more of an angel than me, I swear, Roy, she’s an angel just without the wings, you’ll see- you’ll love her, I promise! She’s a human, just like you…” 

_Just like you’re supposed to be…_

Maes stilled for a moment longer, his encouraging smile falling. 

The truth was, Maes did not know how much Roy remembered. He’d been dying when he’d found him, caged in that empty warehouse and left there alone to die. He’d been dying, feverish and bleeding and barely breathing, but when Maes had found him, he’d thrown himself desperately against the bars, clutching to them like an animal but begging for his help like a human. Delirious, and scared, and abused like a dog, but when Maes had touched his shoulder and the fear in his cat’s eyes had melted into a frantic, agonized need…

It had never been a choice, whether or not he’d bring Roy home with him.

It had never been a choice, to save him. 

Maes floated a little closer, wings flaring in a wave of cold rage but warm affection that he could not squash. Affection? Affection for a man too sick to have said two coherent words to him? No, not quite right… they flared outwards all the same, curling gently around Roy, not touching him to disturb his fragile rest but close enough to protect him from any harm that ever hunted him. 

Not affection- not yet. Maes hoped to befriend this creature someday; he hoped Roy would give him that chance, would trust him enough even if the world had given him no reason to trust anyone ever again. But he wasn’t his friend yet.

Right now, it was simply the wish to protect him.

Maes had saved him already. Saved him from whatever humans had taken him, changed him, gotten sick of him, and then left him to die for it all. He’d taken him into his care, and here he would be until Roy himself was well enough to leave it- but for as long as he was here, Maes knew, he would protect him.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured again, spreading his fingers over his hot, miserable brow. “I know you’re scared. That you’re hurt, and don’t trust us, and… and that we can’t fix that… but…” He stopped for a moment, throat tightening. 

Roy kicked miserably at the blankets again, but did not try and pull away. His eyelids flickered for another moment, face straining like he was trying to wake up.

“…Roy?” Maes called gently again. The tip of his wing brushed his knee, beckoning him back, cautioning him back to the warm embrace of safety that was the only reality that should matter.

The creature twisted slightly, pulling in Maes’ grip but still not quite trying to escape. He started to squint, one dark eye cracking open while the other continued to flutter; they roved for a heartbeat, searching, lost, then finally settled on Maes when he patted gently at his cheek again.

There was another silence, Roy staring up at him, glazed and sick and in pain and delirious. He blinked several times.

“You,” he rasped. 

His voice, at least, was not one entirely suffocated by fear.

Maes couldn’t help but smile a little, his throat tightening again. “Yeah,” he assured, touching Roy’s hand with his free one. “Roy. You’re Roy, right?”

The creature blinked at him again. Several seconds passed in silence, and then, he let out a quiet, strangled sort of a groan that was clearly meant to serve as a yes.

His face wasn’t human, but his eyes, his deeply expressive eyes and all that they hid, were.

Maes sighed in half-relief, half-empathetic misery. “Don’t worry. We’re taking care of you. Roy.” He let his hand linger on his forehead for a moment longer, feeling the stress and anguish collecting there. “Roy, I can help you sleep. You’ll feel better. Is that okay?”

Roy didn’t answer him again, still just blinking, still just staring. For a moment, Maes thought he hadn’t understood the question. Considering the fever and that Maes was probably the first angel he’d ever met, he probably hadn’t, but…

And then, his torn face softened, just barely, into a smile.

It was an answer. At least, it was enough of one for him.

“Okay,” he told him, a hundred different promises all in one. It took just a moment to concentrate, gathering his powers and finding the distressed heart of the creature before him, then a moment longer to soothe the agony away into sleep.

He waited there still, hand to Roy’s head, watching him as he faded away into another restless dream, and swore without words that he would never have to feel hurt like this again.


End file.
